Indulgence
by Sapsorrow86
Summary: The terms of the deal are easy to hammer out: he wants forever. It's the proposal that proves tricky. A "Withdrawal" Sequel.
1. Part One

**Pairing: Rumbelle (with helpings of Red Cricket and Mad Swan)**

**Rating: NC-17 (For Part 3)**

**Summary: The terms of the deal are easy to hammer out: he wants forever. Is the proposal the proves tricky. A "Withdrawal" Sequel.**

* * *

A man sat down gingerly on a bench in front of the tall, imposing building that served as headquarters of Imp Inc., toying with the handle of the umbrella he was carrying and checking repeatedly his watch, his gestures nervous and a frown on his face. Said frown was quickly wiped away by the appearance of a brunette in high heels, a pencil skirt and a fiercely red silk blouse running out of the main door of the building with a raven-haired woman in tow.

"Come on, Eminem, I only get five minutes with my cricket before we have to head over to Belle's work" the woman said before her eyes lit up as they locked with the ginger-haired man's "Cricket!"

Ruby Lowell, rising star of Imp Inc. and soon-to-be VP of Acquisitions, according to recent rumours, let her hair out from the stylish bun she had painstakingly put it up in the morning and, stiletto heels and all, ran towards her boyfriend, jumping into his arms with exuberance and firmly planting her lips over his parted ones. The ginger-haired man, apparently anticipating such an attack, caught her effortlessly, his arms supporting her weight with an ease few would have imagined. He opened his lips immediately, feeling his girlfriend's tongue happily trace the inside of his mouth with long, predatory strokes that did wonderful, entirely inappropriate-when-in-public things to his body. He sunk his fingers into her hair, telling himself he meant to delicately pull her away and not just get her to title her head a bit in order to kiss her deeper, which is what he ended up doing.

Months earlier he wouldn't have been able to be so affectionate in public but Ruby had brazenly rid him of his most prudish ways with patience and a lot of touching. He had discovered, to his pleasant surprise, that when in private the woman who had so thoroughly kissed him before ever speaking to him turned somewhat shy and insecure and loved taking things slowly, wining her confidence little by little. And when he had finally won her over truly and completely, one rainy afternoon after meeting for lunch, while waiting for the weather to take a turn for the better, it had been more than worth it, because along with the physical fulfilment had come Ruby's voice in his ear, sleepy and unguarded whispering a "Love you, cricket" before falling asleep. He had looked way too happy after that, as Marco, while meeting him outside the Court Room, had commented.

"I'd say there's a good woman behind that smile, doc" he had teased him good-naturedly "About time, too"

He had blushed and ducked his head, a silly grin plastered all over his face.

And now he had an armful of Ruby, and her mouth closed around his bottom lip, gently biting him. All was right with the world.

"Hello, darling" he rasped the moment she released him, blushing like a schoolboy "How was your day?"

The brunette's smile was dazzling as she recounted how she had made a sixty-year-old executive storm out of the building after winning over a bid.

"Mr Gold even publicly praised me, which is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence"

Archie nodded, being well-acquainted with Ruby's boss. At first it had been strange, bizarre even, that after meeting Ruby's gran the ultimate step had been to meet, formally as Ruby's boyfriend, her best friends and their own men. When she had casually mentioned her boss would be attending the dinner he had almost choked. He had heard rumours about Mr Gold, his hellish temper and ruthless demeanour and wondered why his girlfriend was insisting they dine with him.

"He's Belle's boyfriend" she had casually commented.

Dinner at Ruby's Upper-West-side home was, surprisingly, rather lovely. He had met James for the first time, though he was rather familiar with the drama that had surrounded his divorce and his first months with Mary Margaret because of Emma. Jefferson was also a new face, though he had met him as a lawyer, and whenever he was not playing the Hatter he was rather interesting and funny. Archie had never had close male friends but both James and Jefferson had since invited him for beers and to watch football games. Charmont was a man's man, the typical popular guy everyone flocked to, and Jefferson the eccentric character that exuded a confidence and a flair the psychiatrist envied greatly and that the lawyer had maintained no matter how many times Emma had stressed during dinner that no, they were not a couple, seriously, stop asking.

The most enigmatic character had been, without a doubt, the CEO of Imp, Inc. Dressed impeccably in a suit and surrounded by an intimidating aura, Mr Gold had showed up with a bottle of very expensive white wine right before dinner, apologizing off-handed to Ruby and privately a bit more to Belle, who dismissed his gestures of contrition with a small smile and a kiss Archie was surprised to see Gold not only return but deepen till the brunette had slapped him gently in the arm and chided him for his bad manners in company.

He had said little over dinner, but his comments had been polite and engaging. Charmont had seemed cowed in his presence but Madden had gone toe to toe with him, under the watchful eyes of Belle and Emma, and no discussion had escalated into heated debates, thankfully. Then, all of a sudden, Gold had turned his attention to him, grilling him with a soft voice and impeccable manners, asking about his job, his prospects, his interests, his family, everything. And Archie had only stuttered at first, the feeling of Ruby's hand on his thigh giving him confidence he had never had before. At the end of the meal, after swallowing the slice of apple pie in front of him without really tasting it, Gold had sat up, citing an early morning as pretext to be on his way, Belle deciding to accompany him mumbling something about an early morning too that Ruby had snorted at.

"Far be it from me to get in the way of sex" Ruby had dismissed her friend's apologies with a knowing smirk "But we need to ditch the boys some day and have a girl's night out. That is if you can get away from Mr Gold's clutches"

The mentioned businessman had rolled his eyes, his arm snaking around Belle's waist with ease, eager to get her alone and in his limo.

"This was lovely, Ruby, we must repeat it sometime" he had glanced at Archie, who had been resolute and hadn't lowered his gaze one bit. That had made de older man smile "And I like this one. Has more spine that I thought at first. You may keep him, provided your work doesn't suffer"

And with those words he had been gone, Belle throwing an apologetic look over her shoulder and a smile at Ruby. The girl had squealed the moment the couple had been gone.

"He approves!" she had gushed, jumping into her boyfriend's arms "That is gonna make life so much easier"

The psychiatrist in him had rattled something about father-figures and childhood traumas but Archie was just so glad he had been accepted he had hugged Ruby close to him and smiled at her enthusiasm. These were Ruby's closest people and to be welcomed by them meant to be more tied to her, which was everything he wanted from life and had been ever since she had, quite unexpectedly, kissed him at the Charity Ball.

And it had made life easier. Ruby had been able to take days off work when he had come down with a horrible flu to care for him without Gold saying as much as a peep, and take longer lunch breaks to help him buy new suits or just eat together.

He snapped his mind back to the present, a lovely present with an armful of Ruby, a snickering Mary Margaret and James in the background. He set his girlfriend down with a shy smile, his large hands skimming over her arms, almost against his will. He had never felt comfortable touching people or being touched but he could not get enough of her for some reason.

"Five minutes are up!" Mary Margaret pointed at her watch "Belle's waiting, and she texted that the dry ice will not keep the ice-cream frozen much longer"

With an apologetic smile Ruby wiped some stray lipstick from her boyfriend's cheek, Archie titling his head towards her hand, seeking contact with her skin.

"You better go" he finally said, his voice soft "Your friends are waiting"

With a little nod and another fleeting kiss Ruby ran back towards Mary Margaret, both girls climbing into the back of a town car. He watched it take off with a wistful smile on his face, thinking the two buses he had taken to get there had been totally worth it.

"Well, Archie, you up for a drink?" Charmont slapped him on the shoulder, a grin on his face "I don't much look forward to going home to an empty apartment"

Before he could accept, though, both men heard the tale-tell thump of a cane against the pavement and turned to look at the imposing figure of Mr Gold, smiling in a way that was meant to mask his discomfort.

"Charmont, Hopper, what fortunate occurrence is to meet you both here" he said, like he wasn't completely aware that they were going to be there, waving their girlfriends goodbye "I heard something about a drink. Mind if I join you?"

The Scotsman took the gawking and round, stunned eyes as a yes, motioning for both men to follow him.

"… do we go?" Archie reluctantly enquired, looking at James for guidance. Though Gold seemed to tolerate him he was still more than a by wary of the man.

"He signs my pay checks. Let's hurry"

Silently thanking his neighbour for watching Pongo he quickly followed the two businessmen, trepidation coming off of him in waves.

Both men had expected Mr Gold to some posh cigar bar or one of those elegant Gentleman's Clubs with wooden panelling, plush leather chairs, old paintings and the like. Instead Gold led them on a merry chaise, turning corners so many times James and Archie, native New Yorkers, found themselves lost in the Big Apple. The street they ended up in looked grimy and badly-lit and prompted Archie to grip the handle of his umbrella tightly, ready to use it as a weapon. Gold entered a pub just around the corner, the other men following him in reluctantly. Inside the scene was chaotic: there was beer everywhere: on tall glasses, all over the floor, spilled over the bar and the tables and on the clothes of most of the patrons. On one corner a group of men of various ages, all clearly English and dressed in red European football jerseys, were watching a match on television, groaning or cheering, smacking each other around and loudly cursing the players in a very colourful language. Some other patrons were smoking as well as drinking, and talking loudly to each other, every once in a while two or more drunks getting into a disagreement and throwing a few punches around, getting riled up till the more sober friends dispelled the situation or they got unceremoniously thrown out.

Without batting an eye at the scene in front of him Gold pushed past the drunks and the football fans and dropped down on a booth at the far corner of the room, James and Archie quick to join him. He ordered a pint of beer, Charmont asking for the same and nudging the psychiatrist to follow his example, trying not to look as shocked as he felt at the mere idea of his boss drinking beer in a dingy pub. His jaw almost hit the floor when Gold proceeded to take out a pack of cigarettes and light one up, taking a deep draught and releasing the smoke with a sigh of relief.

"I rather needed that" he said, his brogue thick. The moment their beers arrived he took a rather large swig, downing half in seconds and gesturing the bartender for a new glass. James tentatively took a sip of his beer and nudged Archie again to do the same, both men waiting for some sort of explanation as to the rather strange turn of events that had landed them in a shady pub in the middle of a bad neighbourhood with Mr Gold, of all people.

"Well… how 'bout those Yankees?" James took a swig of his beer, sputtering at the bitter taste of the Guinness, unused to it. Gold snorted.

"I don't follow baseball. Boring game, really" he made a moue of distaste, prompting Charmont to try again.

"Oh, yeah, you Brits are all about soc… football, right? So, what are you? A Man U, fan? Maybe Liverpool? Arsenal?"

His boss snorted once again, downing his beer in one long draught. The Marketing VP found himself impressed against his will.

"Those are English teams. I'm Scottish" he bit out, his brogue thick and mocking "I'm a Falkirk man"

James nodded and fell silent, unwilling to risk speaking again and accidentally putting his foot further into his mouth. He nudged Archie with his foot yet again, prompting the psychiatrist to stop sipping timidly at the lukewarm beer and try to strike any form of conversation. The safest topics were quickly shot down: sports, books, movies, music, current events, even the weather only received clipped answers at best.

It was more than uncomfortable, the silence that seemed to wrap itself around the tree men like a cloak, but it was the increasingly despondent look about Gold that made Hopper screw his courage to his sticking place and address the elephant in the room.

"I can't help but see that something seems to be upsetting you, Mr Gold" he carefully chose his words, knowing that saying the wrong thing would cause the businessman to close himself off and lash out with a rather scathing remark. Probably about his hair "Maybe sharing your problem would help"

Mr Gold stared at him through a curtain of smoke and a haze of alcohol, his eyes carefully measuring him till, finally, he nodded slightly and fished something out of an inner pocket of his suit jacket, placing it squarely in the middle of the table, being careful to keep it away from the drinks.

"This" he said, the word more akin to a hiss "Is what's wrong with me"

Both young men looked at each other before James swiped the square box from the table and opened it, revealing the glimmering Art Nouveau ring inside, the big, round pale rose diamond catching the eye immediately.

"Err... congratulations?" the VP frowned, clearly lost "When were you planning to propose?"

"A month ago... And two weeks ago. And last Friday" Nicholas let out a throaty, depressing chuckle "You can imagine how successful I've been so far"

He emptied his second glass of beer, motioning for a bartender to serve him more, never minding that he had just placed over a quarter of a million in plain sight. James hurriedly closed the ring box and hastily gave it back to his boss, who cradled it, thumb stroking the soft surface before putting it back inside his pocket.

"What happened?" Charmont asked, showing true sympathy. Gold made a gesture with his hand, vague and rather unhelpful, and took another long drag of his cigarette, putting it out and reaching for another, lighting with quick, easy movements.

"That's... a rather long story" he finally bit out, his voice and general look defeated and tired. James cast a sidelong glance at Archie, who nodded.

"We've got time" he offered, honest curiosity and empathy coming off him in waves. Gold sighed, combing a hand through his hair, loosening his tie and taking another gulp of his beer before finally meeting the eyes of the men in front of him.

Suddenly the whole sordid story was pouring out of him in waves, starting from the very beginning. Deciding to propose to Belle had been the easiest decision he had ever made. He had never considered not having her in his life once it had been clear she wanted him. But he had known from the beginning that the trick would be finding the perfect time. Belle was a free-spirited, determined little thing who desperately wanted to carve her place in the world, and he had no wish to get in her way. He knew the moment he asked her to marry him she'd be reduced to being "Mrs Nicholas Gold" unless she could prove her worth before, get her name out in the business world before it was forever associated with his.

That's why he had stood by as Mallory had taken over a great part of Belle's life. That's why he never begrudged her the long nights at the office, the weekends where they had stayed at home so she could work on some numbers, the endless cocktails and functions where he hadn't been able to have her by his side. They had never hidden their relationship from the world, but they had downplayed it, and Gold had spent more than a bit of money ensuring that little about them was printed.

He had known, though, that the moment he proposed all that would be over unless she had managed to really make a name for herself before. So he had waited, and with every one of her professional achievements he had felt one step closer to fulfilling his own dream.

Then Mal had fallen obscenely in love. He hadn't seen that coming. Apparently it had happened somewhere around the time the Blue Ribbon Charity had thrown that Enchanted Forest Gala (he could remember little of the actual event, most of his memory devoted to the interlude in the Coat Room and the image of Belle clad from head to toe in gold) and had quickly escalated from there. Nick had done his digging... After all, Belle was friends with Maleficent and so her boss's happiness impacted in her own. As far as he could tell James Hook was an outstanding fellow, a former proud member of her Majesty's navy who had suffered a serious injury while on a routine manoeuvre and had lost a hand in the process, being honourably discharged afterwards. He had turned himself into the successful CEO of a ship-building empire. He was educated, a gentleman of the old ways with a rather wicked sense of humour about him (and suddenly it made sense that he'd go for someone like Mal, who was all sharp teeth and sharper claws). He had never imagined Mal's sex life would be the key to his every wish and desire coming true but, in a roundabout way, it had been. The CEO of Uni Global had fallen hard and fast, not that Gold could particularly criticize her, glass houses and all, and three months into her whirlwind romance he had called him in to have and after-office drink. There, after the two had emptied half a bottle of whiskey between them , she had frowned, titling her head.

"Fuck, Nick, when did you and I become friends?" she had said, like the mere idea repulsed her to the core, which it probably did. He had stared at her before downing his drink, barely feeling the alcohol burn.

"I've no idea, actually" he had answered "I can't really say I saw it coming"

They had spent some more time in comfortable silence, staring out the huge windows of her office into the city below them, looking pensive. Finally Mal had blurted out:

"I'm going to miss New York nights the most" at his confused look she had added "I'm moving to England in a couple of months. I'll split my time between London and NYC, but I'll probably end up spending most of my time over there"

He had looked at her with renewed interest, the questions in his eyes too obvious to even be voiced aloud. Mal had let her guard down, laughing at herself, and for once she had lost the jaded look she always carried and Gold had seen what Belle always did: the woman behind the tailored suits and catty remarks.

"I never thought I'd fall in love past my forties, but here I am" her tone had been self-deprecating but her lips had curled slightly, a hint of a smile there "Head over heels, the whole nine yards. And James has been wonderful, striking the kind of balance between old-fashioned and forward-thinking... Also, the sex is amazing" she had smirked, and Gold had wondered just how much she had had to drink "And I mean amazing. Whatever you old men lack in flexibility or raw power you more than make up for in..."

"Mal, I'm begging you not to finish that sentence" he had deadpanned, utterly serious. It was one thing to be no longer fighting with the CEO of Uni Global and it was quite another to be having some sort of "girl talk" with her.

"Oh, come on, Nick, don't be such a fucking prude. Anyway, James does this thing with his tongue..."

"For your own sake, Mal, I hope you had a good reason to call me in here. So you're leaving, or at least relocating for a great portion of your year across the Atlantic. What does this mean for Uni Global?"

The real question ("What does this mean for Belle?") had floated in the air around them, unvoiced but ever-present.

"Well, though I don't plan to relinquish my current position, I know that moving the headquarters to London is out of the question. Though I can manage most of my business from England Uni Global's heart must remain in New York. And I happen to have just the person to care for it in my name"

He had forced himself not to react, even though his mind had been jumping to all the right and delightful conclusions and his fingers had been eager to wrap themselves around the ring box stashed with his ties back at his penthouse. Mal had looked, at that moment, like the cat that had managed to finally eat the canary.

"I'll leave control of the NY branch to Belle, and she'll be my eyes and ears here, running most of the interests of the company in the US and Latin America. I'll deal with Europe and Asia. I'm making the formal announcement in a week. I wanted you to know first because I suppose you'll have your own arrangements to make in light of this new development" she had polished off her drink, a grudging sort of respect dancing in her eyes.

"I'd never thought you of all people would have waited. But you did, and you were incredibly patient about it. A pity, really, I would have liked nothing more than to rile you up. You never did oblige" she had sighed "Oh, well. You waited, and I have to reluctantly respect you for that. And in a week Belle will become one of the most respected and powerful women in business and you will finally be done wishing and hoping"

He had acted like he hadn't known what he was talking about, but it had done him little good.

"I'd wager my last bottle of Russo-Baltique that you've had a ring for the last six months at least" one look at his face had told her all she needed to know "Even further back, I bet. Well, in a week nothing will be standing in your way. I wanted to give you the news myself. Louboutins would make an excellent 'thank you' gift, by the way. I'll e-mail your secretary my shoe size and a list of pre-approved models"

She had been surprisingly gentle, not teasing him nearly as much as she could have, and Gold had been hard pressed not to just track down Belle and propose the moment he laid eyes on her. But he had been determined to do it properly, to propose the way Belle clearly deserved. So he had waited some more. He had stood in the background as the announcement had been made at a very lavish function, and had let her assimilate her new status, enjoy the culmination of her rather long journey and the beginning of a whole new game.

Once an appropriate amount of time had passed he had planned the perfect evening down to the most trivial detail. Under the pretext of wanting her to unwind he had managed not to make Belle suspicious of him taking her to see a musical ("Beauty and the Beast", because he knew how much she adored the story). The show had not been as awful to stand as he had thought and after that he had whisked them both away to a small and exclusive Arabian restaurant, ready to propose over her favourite dessert, Baklava.

He had felt the flutter of nerves in his stomach somewhere around the middle of dinner, but he had ignored them, resolute to stop being a coward when it came to finding some happiness in his life. He had been born ready to spend his life with Belle, he was sure it, made for her like she had been for him.

Somewhere around the second course, however, he had realized his stomach pains had nothing to do with nerves and all to do with the undercooked Shish Barak he had ordered as his first course. He had barely had enough time to limp to the bathroom before unceremoniously puking his guts out for the better part of an hour, having the presence of mind to lock the door so Belle wouldn't see him in such a state, reducing her to a mass of worries on the other side of the bathroom door.

Some nervous waiter had ended up calling 911 and so he had finished the evening in a private room of the New York Presbyterian University Hospital, hooked to an IV drip and loosely clutching Belle's hand, trying to hold on to his last shreds of dignity.

Attempt One had been thus classified a resolute failure, and quickly dismissed in favour of a Plan B, which included an "impromptu" picnic on a secluded spot of Central Park, with steaming cups of Starbucks coffee and caramel and truffle cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery. They had enjoyed each other immensely and had wound up cuddled close on the shores of Belvedere Lake, watching the ducks. She had nuzzled against him, a sigh of utter contentment serving as the signal it was time to finally pop the question, and had mumbled against his neck:

"You know, a girl could get used to being spoiled like this"

It had been the perfect opening line, and he had felt like the world had finally decided to give him a break. He had reached into his coat pocket, the tip of his fingers brushing against the cold surface of the ring box when a cry had pierced the air, the kind of full-belied shriek that only terrified little kids could muster. Belle had scrambled to her feet, concern etched across her face, and he had had no choice but to follow as she approached a bawling little girl with brown, straight hair and watery-blue eyes, looking everywhere for her mommy. It had taken close to twenty minutes to calm the little darling down and so Gold had been forced to sit on a bench next to Belle watching her cradle and rock a toddler with her eye colour and his hair, his lungs constricting and his heart beating against the still-full ring box.

It had taken two hours to find the terrified mother of the little girl, an over-worked wedding-planner assistant (and the irony hadn't exactly sat well with Nick, at all), who had practically tackled Belle down the moment she had spotted her daughter in her arms. Afterwards she had been full of gratitude and kind words, which had forced him to stand around and hear her tearfully sob some awful story about being tired of bridezillas and her awful boss and just closing her eyes for a second while her little Susie rode the carousel. By the time she had opened them little Susie had disappeared. Of course she had contacted the police, which only meant more standing around, giving statements. By the time the lost-child nightmare had ended his knee had all but given out on him and he had had to lean on Belle on the way back to the town car. The rest of the evening had been a blur of heavy pain medication, soothing hands in his hair and a deep sense of failure.

So he had planned some more, wracking his brains no longer for the perfect proposal scenario but for one that was fool-proof. No food, no people, no distractions of any kind, no obstacles to get in his way. He had chosen his flat as the appropriate venue, far away from amateur cooks and misplaced children. He had planted the ring box inside an old wooden box where they stashed some bonbons to eat in the study by the fire, cuddled close on the bearskin rug Belle adored so. He had cooked for her, nothing unusual, and had quickly lit up the appropriate roaring fire for the occasion, prepared to wait five minutes, so as to not seem too eager, before asking Belle to get him a bonbon.

The smoke had put an end to that idea pretty quickly. It managed to fill the room with surprising alacrity, and they had barely had any time to react at all before the smoke had managed to trigger the sprinkler system and the whole room had become some sort of chaotic mess of water and thick smoke. They had scrambled to get all the electronic devices away from the sudden monsoon, remembering next the old, leather-bound books. Belle had been driven almost to tears when they had had to declare an old copy of Paradise Lost as, well, a lost cause. They had stayed all night up dealing first with the fire department and then with their water-logged study, Belle refusing to wait till the morning to try and get some of the books dry, using her blow-dryer to accomplish such a task. In the end he had spent one of the most unromantic weekends ever, trying to save his Persian rug and two Verger chairs and, quite regrettably, finding a final place of rest for his beloved bearskin, irreparably stained with soot and smelling of smoke. He had had the blasted fireplace checked, finding it clogged up pretty badly with creosote, and had spent a small fortune getting the study smelling fresh and clean again. At the end of that particular weekend he had clung to Belle, seeming to offer her comfort but really trying to reassure himself she was there, and he had all the time in the world to propose to her, come hell or high water...

Again.

But he had gone to work Monday morning more defeated than hopeful, unable to shake the feeling of frustration and failure. He had spent the rest of the week pretending to be in a better mood than he was (he couldn't even snap at work, the ever-watchful Mary Margaret sure to tell Belle if he seemed particularly upset by something) and feeling rather glad Belle seemed so preoccupied with her new position and responsibilities that she hadn't picked up on his strange mood, like she usually did. He had come to the conclusion he needed to talk to someone and, Mal being out of the question (he didn't trust her to completely keep this from Belle, female loyalties and all that) he had pounced on the unexpected opportunity when he had found both Archie and James talking about getting a drink on the entryway of Imp, Inc.

"And now here I am getting drunk with people who don't really like me, smoking for the first time in years and spewing my guts out on a Friday night, with nothing but the promise of an empty apartment and a cold bed in the near future. Fucking perfect"

He snubbed his third cigarette of the evening rather viciously, his movements barely betraying the fact that he had had more to drink than both other men put together. James and Archie looked at each other, torn between a deep sympathy for Gold's plight and the very inappropriate urge to laugh, which they blamed the alcohol for. Finally the psychiatrist, after finishing the rest of his first and only beer, and regrettably finding himself not as clear of mind as his companions.

"Well, Mr Gold, sharing is always a good first step" he encouraged, trying to sound more like a friend and less like a shrink "Now that you've shared your frustrations and fears with us you are ready to accept some constructive criticism and, perhaps, some helpful advice as to how to better deal with..."

A swift kick in the shin promptly stopped him mid-rant. James laughed and clapped a confused Archie in the back with a little more force than what was called for.

"What the doc means, Gold, is that you need to chill down, first. I admit, you've had a rough couple of weeks, but it's not as hopeless as you seem to imagine" he smiled that million-dollar smile that had gotten him in the cover of business magazines and had gotten him elected "Sexiest up-and-coming entrepreneur" three years in a row. He took the smokes and the beer away from Gold with barely a thought, grabbing next the ring box from Gold's protective grasp and setting it on the centre of the table.

"This is your goal. From now on you eat, breathe and sleep with this ring in mind. We're gonna stay here and plan a course of action. Think of every possible contingency, every obstacle, ever tiny possible problem. We'll make it perfect down to the last insignificant detail. It'll be so flawless, and make Belle so utterly happy, you'll forget all about the other times you tried to propose" he was getting into the idea, his eyes shining, and his charisma seemed to be having some sort of effect in Gold, who looked a bit less downtrodden and grudgingly impressed "Now, you gotta tell us all about Belle's likes and dislikes. This has got to be a proposal tailor-made for her, so the more input you give us the better it'll be"

The Scotsman looked still a bit sceptical, but James merely smiled wider and leaned forward, making Archie mimic him unconsciously. Finally he shrugged, threw caution to the wind and dived head first into what could very well be the best or the worst idea ever, feeling he had little to lose.

After all, things couldn't very well get any worse, could they?

* * *

Meanwhile, somewhere in a spacious, rent-controlled apartment in the Upper West Side Ruby Lowell was in the middle of doing Mary Margaret's nails, gleefully painting them a deep pink. Emma was rolling her eyes at both of them, a bowl of popcorn in her hands as Moulin Rouge played in the background, the digital surround sound living up to its name. Belle seemed to be the only one watching the movie, sharing her pint of ice-cream with a rather bemused Mallory Ficient. It was Mal's last night in New York City and it had seemed fitting to have some sort of last "girls' night out" with her closest friends... except she didn't have any. She had enemies, she had acquaintances, she even had lackeys. But the awful truth had presented itself after a thorough perusal of her cell phone's contact list: she didn't have any friends. She had Gold as a reluctant... ally? Drinking buddy? Fellow snarker? She got along with some other powerful CEOs, all male, but she would trust none of them with any sort of personal information.

What she did have, however, was Belle. The assistant-turned-honest-companion. The girl who had managed to befriend her against her own wishes. The woman who had had her mortal enemy's car thrown into the East River simply to get rid of her for an evening.

She had threatened James, she knew that. He had told her all about it, looking rather happy about the whole situation, painting a vivid picture of a smiling, wide-eyed Belle shaking his hand for the first time while he waited for her to change out of her pantsuit and into something more casual for their night out on the town. She had chit-chatted idly with him, inquiring about his business and making appropriate remarks about the fascinating world of ship-building. And just as Mal had announced that she was about to come out Belle had smiled widely at James and told her in no uncertain terms that if he hurt Mal she would end him.

"I'd give her dibs, of course, allow her a first crack at you, but the moment she decided she had had her fill I'd step in and ruin you. Your company, your reputation, all you cared about. Gone. In shreds. On fire. So please do be careful, Mr Hook. This is merely a friendly warning"

She had smiled again and gone to fetch Mal's coat, cooing over the woman's beautiful Chanel blouse before bidding them a good evening and retiring. When he had told her about their conversation, hours later, tangled both in bed, Mal checking her e-mails on her phone while her other hands petted his hair and James languidly stroking her back, she had laughed, her face lighting up with a strange sort of warmth for a second.

"She'll do it, too" she had warned him, her eyes letting him know she meant it "I know how that girl looks like, but don't underestimate her. Those who do don't fare well"

The idea to chastise Belle hadn't even crossed her mind. She had been so pleased at the idea of someone caring for her well-being that everything else had taken a back seat to that. So on her last night in New York City she had invited her little assistant out for a drink ("After all, my dear, you no longer work under me. Let's celebrate that"), but Belle had apologized and told her she had a previous engagement.

"A girls' night out with a couple of friends. Watch some movies, eat junk food, drink like sailors... The usual" Belle had paused for a second before adding "I know. Come with us! The more the merrier"

Mal had had her doubts. She had met Belle's friends, and she very much doubted they'd want to spend their time together with a perfect stranger, older to boot and with her horrid reputation. They had barely batted an eye, to their credit. Mary Margaret had politely received them both at her home and soon a blonde, Emma something, had handed her a Margarita and ordered her to drink up.

Soon she had found herself wrapped in a conversation about the latest Fall collection, the girl known as Ruby sharing her passion for Ellie Saab and Alexander McQueen (and her hobby of teasing Belle over her clearly smashing sex life) and her not-assistant-anymore offering a bite or two of her Strawberry Cheesecake ice-cream. After three Margaritas and two chick flicks she had felt right at home.

"Someone should make it illegal for Ewan McGregor to smile" Mal deadpanned while stealing another spoonful from Belle's carton "And she should contractually made to strip in every single movie. I mean, this was a movie about a renowned French Whorehouse. I was expecting some nudity. I feel cheated"

Emma snorted.

"Oh, yeah" she agreed, eyes now glued to the screen "I mean, I appreciate the guy's voice, and I'm not saying he can't act, but Ewan, baby, that's not why I'm watching this movie"

"He gets naked in Velvet Goldmine, Trainspotting, Young Adam and The Pillow Book" Ruby offered "We could watch one of those"

Mal raised her glass to the brunette, impressed. Mary Margaret rolled her eyes.

"Ruby is some sort of savant prodigy when it comes to nude men in movies. It's a gift" she muttered, tossing aside the magazine she had been perusing to pay attention as Christian sung "My Song" on the screen.

"We won't have time for them all, though" the detective pointed out "Bummer it's your last night in town"

"I could always livestream them" Ruby announced "I'll just ask Belle to gimme your e-mail address so you know when the next movie night will be. Just kick that sext Brit you've got out of your bed, buy some alcohol and grab your laptop. Easy"

The blonde CEO smiled.

"I do believe we are kindred spirits, Miss Lowell" she replied, downing her drink and letting the girl refill her glass "I'll take you up on your offer. E-mail away" she turned to look at Belle, who was smiling at her "And do keep me in the loop in matters regarding Belle and that snake Gold. I fear my little friend doesn't always tell me everything, and I do not trust Nick with her"

The Columbia graduate objected profoundly, drunk enough to grab a fistful of popcorn and throw it at her former boss and current co-worker.

"I tell you everything Mal, for shame"

"Well, you've been very quiet as of late" Very quiet when Mal had expected important, joyous news. The brunette shrugged, reaching for her cell phone when she was it beep.

"There's been nothing new to report" she defended, her wistful smile, the one she always got when they ended up talking about her boyfriend, vanishing as she scrolled down an e-mail. An ugly shadow settled over her face, and Mal's instincts, the ones honed from years of dealing with back-stabbers, liars and cheats, when on high alert. Belle was more than upset, more than anxious.

Belle was afraid.

"Is everything alright, dear?" she asked casually, not wanting to give anything away. At Belle's strained smile she decided to drop the subject, but the moment the girl's eyes strayed back to the movie she caught Emma Swan's gaze, making it very clear she needed to talk to her. The detective mumbled something about an empty Margarita jar and marched into the kitchen, unsurprised when the older blonde appeared moments later.

"Miss Swan, I was hoping you could give me the Mad Hatter's phone. As I have it understood he is rather a good friend of Belle's and has some interesting connections. I'd like to ask him for a little favour"

Swan looked her up and down before fixing her attention on the blender.

"And what makes you think I'd have his number? He's Belle's friend, ask her"

"Oh, I'd prefer not to bother her with this. And as for you, my dear, you can hardly make out with one of the top names in business law in the middle of the a crowded hall of the New York County Supreme Court building without the entire corporate world knowing all about it. Rather ballsy of you, by the way"

Emma Swan, though and proud member of the NYPD blushed like a schoolgirl.

"Look, I just had gotten shot, bullet grazing my temple. He found out, freaked out and when he saw me he... kind of forgot about the other people. It happens to him from time to time"

The CEO smiled, the sharp, bitchy twitch of her lips she had perfected over the years. Emma sighed, grabbed a pen and a post it note and scribbled down the number.

"Here" she handed the woman the pink square paper "I'm only giving this to you cause I know you have Belle's best interests at heart. I saw her face when she checked the cell phone. Something's up, something's been up for a while, but she won't tell us, and I don't have the heart or the time to go behind her back. But you seem like the woman for the job, and Jefferson will get you what you need, probably for free" she poured the contents of the blender into the pitcher "Just tell me if it gets too bad. 'Cause if it does, we'll all want to get in on it"

She walked out from the kitchen after that and Mal paused to fold the paper and stash it in the pocket of her silk pyjamas before going back to the living-room, just in time to catch the beginnings of "Like a Virgin"

She'd call Jefferson in the morning.


	2. Part Two

Belle had known for a while that something was up with Nick. It had been obvious from the get-go, just as it had been very clear he didn't want to tell her anything about it. She had decided early on not to pry, but to watch out for any signs indicating that whatever was bothering him was escalating.

His mood got increasingly sour after the food-poisoning, but she could hardly blame him. He'd spent an awful night retching and sweating and hadn't managed to hold anything besides ginger-ale and crackers down for three straight days. He had come out of the episode thin and gaunt, and she had made the effort to take time from her increasingly-busy schedule to spend more time at his flat and prepare him light soups and simple steamed rice dishes until he had gotten better.

She had thought the picnic at the park a lovely off-handed gesture meant to thank her for her patience and attention during his ordeal, so she hadn't really found it odd. And then the little girl had appeared, crying and looking so hopeless and so very sad that ignoring her hadn't really been an option. The look on his face as she had cradled little Susie close had made her head spin. She could see her future in those eyes, and it took her breath away.

It had to be more than their spectacular bout of bad luck, however. Nick was above all a pragmatic man; such trivial bumps in the road would not upset him to such an extent. He was a believer in the idea that men made their own luck, and had a knack for turning unpleasant or negative situations in his favour.

It felt awful not being able to sit him down and force him to confide in her, but she was afraid of giving herself away, and subsequently getting caught up in an emotional moment and blurting out her own little secrets.

The pictures at first hadn't been a shock. Mal had mentioned she would start being photographed more and more after the big announcement, and not only in the conventional places - a function, a cocktail, a charity drive - but whenever she went out in public. The people in charge of PR at Uni Global had been ordered to keep her in the loop constantly, providing her with copies of almost all pictures before they ever made the printed page or the Internet in case there were any she'd like to have...detained. She didn't really want to delve into the details of things, knowing it went beyond offering some money for them. It had been a little disturbing to see mundane moments of her life captured on film. A visit to the stylist, a shared latte with friends, window-shopping down Fifth Ave or even taking the subway to go visit her father (the town car never sitting well with her when going to have lunch with her old man).

She hadn't liked it, but she had borne it rather well, in her opinion. She had gotten used to remembering that the streets were now a public forum, and that she needed to keep her guard up at all times when out in public. She had been tempted, oh so tempted, to let Nicholas' magic touch with the media solve her problem. She knew she had but to utter a word in his ear and all the pictures would stop, and no one would dare even look at her funny ever again.

But that would be the easy way out, and Belle wanted to walk her own path on her own two feet. And Nick (to his credit) had always been rather marvellous at respecting that, even though his instincts in any sort of situation were usually to take charge, to be in control. But she couldn't allow him to do that, nor be insensitive enough to tell him of her problem and then force him to watch from the side-lines as she tried to cope.

Not telling him was a kindness, she repeated over and over again. Even when the pictures had gotten more invasive, or when someone had started e-mailing her some shots - none of which ever made it to the public - that depicted her through the windows of her tiny apartment; as a result, she now kept the curtains drawn at all times. It was part of the deal, a price to pay for the life she wanted to live and the things she wanted to achieve. She couldn't take the good without the bad, and she needed to do this by herself, to prove Mal's faith in her and honour Nick's efforts to let her fly solo. She would conquer this small bump, and meanwhile devote herself to her new position at Uni Global.

Her new position didn't exactly mean more work per se, since Mal had been getting her used to running things by herself ever since James "Isn't his ass delicious?" Hook had appeared in her life. She had checked him over with care before trusting him with Mal, Jefferson's expertise coming in useful for once. Ever since Mal had met him she had spent less and less time in the office, but Belle knew it couldn't have been just the new man in her life making her act this way. This had been in the works a long time before James - he was just icing on the cake. Delicious icing, according to Mal's unwelcomed comments. Spectacular icing with great stamina. The truth was Mal had gotten to the top and had found out she had no desire to shut herself off and dedicate the rest of her life to jealously defending her little patch of land. She loved her company with a passion; it was the child she had never had, her most precious possession, the sum of her life, and she knew what it meant to the thousands upon thousands of people it employed, but she didn't have the drive to give it her all, like she had been doing so far. She was ready to delegate, to take a tiny step back and share the burden, free up enough of her time to live life and, just perhaps, make amends with her past. She had been born in England, but her only fond memories of growing up as the privileged daughter of landowners were of Unicorn, her pet pony. Her parents had been perfect strangers up until the day they had died, and she had left her old country home in the hands of the very capable steward and promptly forgotten about it - until Belle had taken over enough of her responsibilities to allow her the time to reminisce and ponder. She had decided early on to go back, and meeting the perfect English gentleman with complementary dark humour and a rather lovely wicked streak had only made things easier.

Belle was truly happy for Mal, but everything was clouded by the looming threat of the mysterious e-mail photographs that seemed to follow her wherever she went, prompting a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. It kept her silent when she felt Nick toss and turn during the night, restless and clearly upset. It stilled her hand when she saw him with his head bent, almost slumped against his mahogany desk inside his study, worry lines etched across his face. It made her swallow any objections when he called to let her know he'd be working late in the office and wouldn't be able to join her for dinner.

She wanted to pry. She knew she needed to, as it had gone far enough and he was clearly not up to sharing. But she also knew that she didn't have the strength to deal with it, with whatever seemed to be upsetting him. At any other time she'd have made all the tiny little gestures that seemed so small but made such a difference in people's lives. She felt awful, being reduced to absentminded pecks on the cheek, half-listening to half of what he said, her mind busy tormenting her - less with the new workload waiting for her at Uni, and more with the looming threat that checking her e-mail had become.

When his mood seemed to pick up, she still felt awful, because she was a bit more relieved for herself than she was for him. It made life easier when Nick was in a better mood and she found herself without the strength to care about the original cause of the problem or its apparent solution. He started sleeping soundly through the night again, and she went back to snuggling against him, seeking at night what she couldn't in the daylight: his comfort. Then, all of a sudden, the e-mails stopped. No explanations, no reason. They were gone, like they had never existed and though every bone in her body, every cell in her brain urged her not to simply shove the matter away like it had never happened, to maybe seek help or confide in Jefferson (who was the soul of discretion and the most loyal of friends), but to open up would be to keep the matter fresh, to keep it present. Belle was tired, so very tired. The job change, however welcomed, had taken a toll on her and she found herself mourning the life she'd had, a life of relative anonymity and far less stress. And though she didn't really regret all that her hard work and talent had gotten her, she found herself with no energy left over to be brave.

So Belle did what she would never have recommended anyone else do. She burned all of the pictures, copied the e-mails to a blank DVD and deleted all the original files from her computer, stashing said DVD in the depths of the bottom drawer of her office desk, the one that she always locked before leaving. And, just to be on the safe side, she dodged all of Jefferson's text messages, afraid she'd be too tempted to go back on her decision to let sleeping dogs lie.

A week later, when she got back from an afternoon of meetings with the R&D Department to find a big Dior bag occupying most of her desk she realized she had done the right thing. She smiled, for the first time in weeks, and rolled her eyes when she noticed the note taped to the bag had only once sentence written on it: "The car will pick you up at seven".

"Nick, you silver-tongued devil," she muttered, taking the time to peek into the bag enough to realize the patent leather pumps she had stashed in the closet would be perfect. She took her time freshening up her make-up and styling her hair, feeling giddiness well up inside her, an intoxicating feeling only Nick could produce. A dash or two of perfume and she was ready for Dove (Gold's personal driver), a tall lurch of a man with no facial expressions and the biggest heart in Manhattan. As she expected he did not tell her anything other than how lovely she looked, and since she felt generous and happy enough not to press him for details that could get him all sorts of fired, she slipped into the back seat of the town car without protest. When they arrived at the destination it was too dark to properly recognize anything, but she still let the poor driver follow orders and cover her eyes with a blindfold before escorting her the rest of the way. The cream, slightly rose, stiff fabric of the Dior dress felt cool against her skin, the tulip-shaped skirt flaring around her, making it an easy dress to move in and the heels of her shoes, though impressive, were manageable. She tripped twice, her hulking companion catching her deftly both times before delivering her safely to her destination.

"Ah, the colour looks lovely on you, my dear" Nick's voice, brogue thick and pleasant, cut through the sudden silence and stillness. Belle would have rolled her eyes, but the blindfold was still firmly in place.

"I'm sure it does, Nick, but I'd be able to truly agree with you if I was able to see. Can I take the blindfold off now?"

She felt a shift in the air, and when she inhaled she caught the faint scent of sandalwood and Scotch that she adored. She trembled when she felt the slight, almost phantom touch of the tips of his fingers down her right arm, skimming her waist and then moving up her spine.

"Oh, I don't know, dearie" he said, his voice a caressing murmur, "Having you here now, in a dress I picked out, blind and helpless... Well, it's giving me ideas. Great, wonderful ideas." He paused and she felt his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs drawing circles over her skin. It had been too long, and they had both been so distracted...

What a waste.

"Someone is in a better mood," she teased, not bothering to hide the problem she was having with breathing. She raised a hand, tentatively plunging it into Nick's thick mane of hair, drawing his face closer to her neck. "I missed this. I missed my lion."

She felt his smile against her throat and her skin sang with relief, and whatever stress she had still been harbouring melted away. It had been necessary to distance herself from Nicholas, but right now she couldn't fathom how she had managed to do so.

"You smell like heaven," she felt him nuzzling her and only the certainty that they were in an open, public space kept her from turning around and pouncing on him. She knew he could feel her eagerness radiating off her in waves. "I have this whole night planned out and I thought it was spectacular, and interesting and romantic... Now it just seems long," he sighed against her shoulder, his hands spanning her waist before he kissed the nape of her neck and removed her blindfold. "Still, it'd be a waste not to go through with it now that we're here."

The moment her eyes adjusted she knew where she was, easily recognizing the imposing building in front of her. She turned to look at him, puzzled.

"Well, more than half the members of the Board of Trustees owe me favours, pet. And my donations usually make up at least 5% of the annual budget. I was bound to be entitled to some perks."

She stared at him for a while longer before turning her eyes to the beautiful medieval-style building towering in front of them.

"You got them to open The Cloisters just for us?" she enquired, disbelief lacing her tone. He took her hand and walked her towards the side entrance.

"I got them to do a bit more than that, love," he confessed, sheer pride in his voice as he took her hand and led her inside. The Spartan interior of the building was softly illuminated, the sound system delivering a steady supply of soothing choir music. Belle knew the place like the back of her hand. Though it was a ways from where she lived, she visited Fort Tryon Park and The Cloisters every chance she got. There was a lovely cottage-styled café, The New Leaf, that served amazing hot chocolate and had a great selection of Argentine Merlots, and the Alpine Garden was one of her favourite walks. She'd been pestering Nick forever to come with her but so far he'd always had something better to do.

"We have the whole park to ourselves, as well as dinner waiting for us by the stone fountain you're always talking about. I toyed with the idea of musicians, but I wanted there to be no other people except us."

It was a strange sight: Nicholas Gold looking relaxed and romantic, smiling softly at her. Whatever had been up with him seemed to have been resolved and she felt happiness and relief at the thought. She let him guide her to their secluded little table, admiring the fairy lights scattered around trees and columns, adding to the atmosphere. She wasn't surprised to find her favourite dish, chicken in white wine sauce with rice and mushrooms on the side, accompanied by champagne.

"Whatever you did you're forgiven," she teased as they both sat down, digging into their food with relish. "Though part of me feels I should hold out for more. Maybe a pony."

He laughed, looking younger and happier that she'd ever seen him before. Belle's heart skipped a beat and she felt like she was falling in love with Nick all over again. He took the hand that wasn't holding the fork and brought it up to his lips, kissing it fervently.

"You'll have a veritable herd, if it'd make you happy."

Cutthroat, devil, monster... beast. That's what everyone called him; only the bravest directly to his face, but everyone behind his back. Belle couldn't understand them, though. How could they not see the softness hidden, the gentleness, the utter vulnerability of the man? To her it was plain as day and she had to blink back tears, not wanting to upset him with her silly emotional moment. He was so open, and she didn't want to do anything that'd make him shut down.

They talked about everything and nothing, commenting on the beauty of the place, the books they were reading and the plans for a small weekend escapade as soon as they could be spared by their respective companies. Nick surprised her with natillas for dessert, a Spanish custard dish made with milk, sugar, eggs and vanilla. Then he took her by the hand and asked her to show him her favourite pieces. She led him around, pointing out gobelins, paintings and statues, leaving the rooms that featured the Unicorn Tapestries for last. As they saw each panel she told him the story, pointing out the heavy symbolism in the images. They wound up in front of the last tapestry, the unicorn alive again and in captivity.

"The tapestry before this is incomplete but hints at maidens bringing the unicorn back to life. Though collared and imprisoned the animal doesn't look quite as sad. I like to think that, though the encounter with the hunters has scarred him, the maidens have not only healed him, but given him hope."

Well, as much of a laugh as Mal would get from it, Nick couldn't help but compare himself with the unicorn. He too had felt trapped and had lashed out, and in turn had been given new life in the form of love. He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, knowing the perfect time had come. Hopper had told him he would know when he was ready and he'd been right.

"Belle... there's something I need to ask you. That I've wanted to ask you for quite some time..."

The sound of her cell phone caught them both by surprise, the intro to Into the Woods cutting through his speech. She excused herself with a tiny, apologetic smile.

"There's a deal I've been monitoring closely at work and I've got to know if there's any progress. Do you mind?"

He waved her off, wanting her to get take the call so she could then focus her undivided attention on him. On them. Five more minutes wouldn't kill him, if it meant he had Belle forever.

She hurried towards a secluded side-room, one of the many that littered the building. Though Mal had promised she wasn't going to call, Belle knew she wouldn't be able to stop herself if the DreamCorp deal got finalized. Belle could barely believe the day had come when her boss had finally stopped feuding with the Dormers - the founders of the company. She expected Mal had gotten completely drunk and was calling to berate Belle for forcing to end her petty but entertaining squabble.

The voice on the other end of the phone, however, did not have Mal's trademark crispy British accent. It was low, succinct and unknown with a hint of a brogue. It barely let her speak, taking charge from the get go by bringing up her father. Belle tried not to panic, not to let the fear that was creeping up on her show in her voice. The anonymous person went straight to the point, explaining his leverage against her and the price for his cooperation. Though her hands shook violently her words were strong and clear as she requested some time to think it over, which the voice grudgingly granted. She quickly ended the call after that, going on to pull up her contact list and pressing Jefferson's name.

"Jeff... do you remember that problem I had that I talked to you about a while ago?" she couldn't help the tears as they bubbled to the surface. "I think I need help. Big help. I'm scared, Hatter."

Madden might have been almost certifiably insane, but when pressed he took charge with impressive aplomb and calm. It was almost disturbing, how easily he changed his entire demeanour.

"Get to my office right now, Rabbit. This cannot wait another second."

She sniffled out an "Okay" before hanging up, shoving the phone back into her pocket before she dropped it. The ornate bathroom mirror let her know what a mess her make-up had become from the tears and she dabbed at the runny mascara with a wet paper towel until it became clear that the damage was not going away without remover.

She couldn't go back to Nick like that. He'd ask her what was wrong and she'd blurt it out. This was her problem, not his. He was so happy, after being so troubled for so long, that it'd be selfish of her to burden him so. Besides - and this she admitted with a hint of shame - she'd hate herself and him if she ran to him with her problem and he fixed it for her. In her mind it'd leave them on unequal footing; it would tip the balance of their relationship in his favour. Nick had always had more than her, ever since they'd started dating, and she hadn't much cared. She could hardly blame the man for his success, so she had decided that, as long as there were certain rules in place, a healthy relationship was more than possible.

Now everything inside her told her that she needed to do this alone, or she'd resent Nick forever for taking care of it for her. She needed to deal with it on her own. Then they could go back to being happy and carefree. Just one last thing.

She quietly slipped to the side-entrance of the Cloisters and requested one of the employees there to hand her her coat and purse. It wasn't too late to take the subway, and it would be the fastest way to get to Madden's place. She asked that they give her a ten minute head start and then notify Gold that she'd had a work emergency and had had to rush out. They looked at her funny (of course they did) but thankfully no one objected, especially after seeing her red eyes.

She hung up on him four times before she arrived at Madden's place. He had a cup of tea ready for her as well as a hug and a disapproving look.

"You've been keeping things from me, Rabbit. Let's see what the damage is, shall we?"

When the waitress had timidly approached him, telling him Belle had left for a work emergency, he had been convinced the incompetent chit didn't know what she was talking about. Belle wouldn't have ran off without telling him, particularly when it was patently clear that it was a special night. He was half-convinced she knew what he was up to, being so profoundly obvious, especially in light of the last thing he'd said before the call had interrupted them. So he looked everywhere, walked up and down the bloody building until his leg throbbed and he had to stop, sit and rethink. Dumbfounded he called her cell phone over and over, finally leaving her several messages, each sounding more and more unhinged. In a final act of fury, he smashed the plates and glasses they had used minutes ago, feeling an odd mixture of fear and anger grip him.

She didn't want to marry him. She must have known he was going to propose, being so pathetically clear, and, in a panic, had left him like some stupid idiot in the middle of a deserted museum. His careful plan, his grand gesture now seemed little more than mocking evidence of the fool he was making of himself, thinking Belle would ever want to tie herself to him forever. He'd been such an idiot, worrying about food-poisoning and missing brats, confiding in fucking Charmont and that spineless Hopper, arranging... arranging a humiliation, it seemed.

His chauffer, not one of the two usual ones but a newbie who had gotten stuck with him for the evening, had the good sense not to talk to him at all, nor question why he demanded he stop at a liquor store on the way home. There wasn't enough Johnnie Walker in the penthouse to help him cope, he knew. Barely enough at the store, really. He tried calling her again, but every time he got her voice mail he got angrier and angrier.

He forced himself to hold it together until he was safely in his penthouse, away from prying eyes desirous to spy on him at his weakest. He had thought familiar ground would help calm him down a bit. He hadn't factored into the equation just how full of Belle his apartment was. Everywhere he looked, things - ordinary things - mocked him. Her books, the extra laptop he'd purchased for her, a cream-coloured scarf forgotten on the back of a dining-room chair. His home was full of Belle, almost to the brim, except that she wasn't there. She'd walked away from him, from what he'd been trying to offer her. Forever.

He poured himself a hefty dose of whiskey before grabbing the offending scarf and tossing it somewhere where it was not as visible. That served little purpose, since there was plenty of Belle left in the open - taunting him. It took half a bottle to decide to call for empty cardboard boxes to be delivered to him. They appeared without delay and, forgoing the glass altogether, Nicholas took a big swig of the drink before grabbing the nearest thing that reminded him of Belle (a book of course) and tossing it into one of the empty boxes. It took most of the night to tear through every single room.

He had to hand it to her. No one had ever played him like that, making him let his guard down enough to... He attacked their walk-in closet, removing every bit of clothing that wasn't his and, after some thought, the clothes that were his but that she liked to wear. She was very partial to his light-blue and white shirts, which he never wore, and some of his cashmere sweaters would forever smell like her, no matter how many times he sent them to be washed.

When he was done he locked everything up in one of his two guests rooms, wanting to simply get it out of his sight. Maybe... maybe if she really apologized, maybe if she begged for his forgiveness, things could still work out. If she humiliated herself enough perhaps he could get over his own mortification. Pretend that it hadn't happened, that he'd never meant to propose to her and she'd never indirectly rejected him. It could work. It had to work.

In the meant time, there was plenty of Johnnie Walker left.

Once she had given everything to Madden he got down to work. Most of said work consisted of phone-calls and texts to various informers. He had connections in every sphere of law enforcement, from the police to the FBI, CIA and Interpol. He had friends in every government agency, spies in the dirtiest slums and richest clubs. He contacted a trusted group of hackers, known online as the Merry Men, able to uncover anything going on online for a price. It was rumoured most of the money they made stealing secrets from the rich went into the online charity "Nottingham Children's Fund", but no one could prove it. Madden liked them because he could get behind their twisted moral code.

After they exhausted every possible source of information, all they could do was wait. Jefferson herded Belle to his car, deciding he couldn't possibly drop her off at her lonely apartment in the state she was in. When she refused adamantly to be taken to Gold's penthouse or to any of the girl's addresses (it seemed that Emma was on duty, Ruby was with that twitchy shrink and Mary Margaret was visiting her seven distant cousins) he drove home. Grace was thrilled to see Belle and immediately understood she was in a fragile mental state. He watched proudly as his little ray of sunshine took care of the older woman, fetching her one of his old college shirts and some shorts to change into and offering her a glass of warm milk, before urging her to sit with her and watch a Simpsons marathon in the living-room. It seemed to be what little Rabbit needed at the moment, judging by the way she seemed to relax marginally.

Saturday morning he let her sleep in; no sense waking her up only to remind her of the mess she was in without having discovered any lead that could help her get out of it. He was drinking his third cup of tea when the message arrived: the e-mails had been traced back to a K. Jones, a minor thug no doubt, and his bank statement had revealed a hefty sum being deposited about a week or so before the harassment begun. Hood had managed to track the slippery trail of the money to an account in the Cayman Islands that, rumour had it, belonged to an R. Mills.

Fucking Regina.

"Oh, gotta love the Queen of Hearts." He, like many others, had gotten thoroughly screwed by Regina back in the day. He had gotten over it, but had never forgotten it. He'd learned never to turn his back on her. He surmised Belle was just a way to get to Gold. He supposed Regina had counted on Belle going to Nick for help when the harassment started, and when she hadn't, she had thought to up the stakes by digging into the girl's past. She was clean, of course, but her father... Well, fathers often made mistakes that their children wound up paying for.

He sent a wire transfer to thank Robin for his generous contribution, taking care not to hold out on the zeros. As Uni Global's attorney on retainer he'd get all the expenses taken care of. With the new information he had he went to his guest-room to rouse Belle. She didn't look like she'd slept well and had forgotten to remove her make-up.

"You've got racoon eyes, Rabbit," he informed her seriously, handing her a cup of tea with honey. After all the crying she'd done yesterday she was bound to have a sore throat. She took it gratefully taking a few sips before getting out of bed. Her whole posture spoke of her misery, prompting the Hatter to take the cup from her, set it in the nightstand and enveloped the small woman in a hug. She broke down then, crying into his shoulder, babbling about everything and nothing, mostly about Nick and how she wished she could tell him.

"He'd be most helpful, Rabbit. Maybe it's time we fill him in." He suggested softly, knowing her answer before she spoke. She shook her head, disentangling herself from him wipe her eyes.

"No. He can't know. I forbid you to tell him. Jeff, I mean it."

The lawyer frowned but put his hands up in surrender, motioning for her to follow him into the kitchen for breakfast. They spent the entire morning working on what Regina knew, and the evidence she had to prove it. Apparently some seven years ago, Belle's father - who had at the time been working for an insurance company - embezzled money from it. Belle had known that he had been struggling with accumulated debt from her mother's lengthy hospital stay before her death, but she'd never thought it was that bad. No one had found out, apparently, but Regina (being an SEC agent) had managed to get her hands into some very compromising documents that would guarantee conviction.

"What about the statute of limitations? Hasn't it ran out?"

"Not if they apply the discovery rule, which they tend to do in New York. Regina can manage to get this to trial easily and, unless we want to try and steal the evidence from her, there's only one thing that can be done."

"I won't pay her. Not even if she'd asked for just money and not shares of Imp, Inc. She's not getting a cent, Hatter."

Belle sounded strong, hard, with an edge Madden seldom heard. He knew there was steel inside his Rabbit, but still it pained him to see her usual softness dashed away. To lighten up the atmosphere, he took out his infamous top hat and perched it atop his head at a jaunty angle. He smiled his crazy smile to add a bit of eccentricity.

"No, little Rabbit. What we can do is... fight fire with fire. Regina is an old dog, and she's had her hands dirty for years. I'm sure your dad's... creative accounting is nothing compared to half the things the Queen of Hearts has pulled. It's only a matter of finding the right type of leverage, and I've got some creative ideas about where to start."

His boyish enthusiasm settled her nerves a bit. She knew she was in good hands, Jefferson might be certifiably insane but he was also very, very good at what he did. She stayed for tea but the more time went by the more obvious it was that she was anxious to be somewhere else. She could do nothing to help Jefferson and she was itching to patch things up with Nick. She had seen he'd left her a number of voicemails, of which she'd heard the first two, so she knew he must be worried, as well as more than a little bit upset.

She swung by her apartment to shower and change, feeling like her feet were made of lead. Maybe a quiet night in with Nick, cooking him his favourite meal and watching an old WWII movie would help. He deserved a little pampering; she'd been neglecting him so.

She greeted the doorman and the two security men around with a smile, getting into the elevator and pressing for the penthouse. On the way up she tried to push her worries to the back of her mind. She needed to appear happy and carefree or Nick would know something was up. When she reached the apartment it was eerily dark and silent. The doorman hadn't mentioned Nick going out, like he did whenever she stopped by and he wasn't there, so she knew he was at home. She searched the rooms in darkness, trying to pinpoint where he was. Finally she saw a flicker of something coming from the studio and stumbled inside. The light came from a lit cigarette that seemed suspended in mid-air. When she found the switched and turned the lights on she saw Nick perched on his Bergere armchair, something that looked more like a throne than like regular furniture. He was sans jacket and vest, his deep blue shirt unbuttoned and his tied undone. She could tell by his hooded eyes and body posture that he'd been drinking, but he appeared mostly sober, or at least seemed to have his wits about him.

"Nick, what are you doing in the dark?"

She shed her coat and scarf, looking around. Somehow the room seemed strange.

"You don't get to ask that, dearie. Not anymore."

She looked at him oddly, but tried to smile apologetically and pretend she couldn't notice the tension that hung around the room like thick cloud.

"I'm so sorry I had to leave in a hurry the other night, Nick. Everything was going perfect and if I could've stayed I would've, but..."

"Where were you last night?"

His voice was slightly mocking, like he was asking a trick question... which he was.

"I told you, there was an emergency at work and I..."

"Wrong answer, dearie! I checked, called your office over and over when you wouldn't pick up on your cell. Want to try again?"

He was smiling, as if he found the whole situation incredibly amusing. He looked... almost impish, with an underlying layer of malice that she'd seldom seen before. There was something... beastly about him.

"I wasn't at work, I went to Jefferson's office. The problem needed his legal help. Then I went to his home because it was getting late and wound up staying the night."

Surely he wouldn't find it objectionable. Though he professed to detest the Hatter she knew he had grudging respect for the man.

"I called Mal, ready to tell her off for not being able to hold the fucking fort for one day without you. She told me in very colourful language that there was no emergency, or else she'd have known. Seemed genuinely surprised, not to mention pissed off. Told me where to shove my phone if I ever thought of calling her again."

He let out a dry, awful laugh that repelled her. She couldn't tell him the truth so she grabbed onto what she knew to be a lie and threw it in his face.

"What are you suggesting? That we were having a great time yesterday and suddenly Jefferson called and I left you to... have sex with him or something? And all because you planned a nice romantic dinner and something important came up and I had to leave?" She thought to mention that Grace had been at home and two junior partners had been working late at the firm, but she didn't need to offer him tangible proof of her fidelity for him to believe her. She was past having to earn his trust. "Do you realize how idiotic that sounds? Not to mention insulting? If that's really what you think Nick then fuck you."

She went to grab her laptop, deciding it was better to let him stew on things, to allow his to come to the conclusion that he'd been an utter ass and needed to apologize, but the computer wasn't were she'd left it. None of her books were either. She marched out of the study and flipped on the many lights of the living-room. Nothing of hers was visible anywhere. Her things were just... gone.

"Where's my stuff?" She turned around to see that Nick had followed her into the living-room, his gait a little bit unsteady. Outwardly he seemed like the picture of calm, serene and stoic as he regarded her. His eyes, however, betrayed him. She could see the anger in them, the hurt and betrayal, the need to lash out and couldn't understand it.

"It's in one of the guest rooms, packed so you can take it whenever it's convenient to you."

He might as well have hit her. Belle went from affronted and furious to numb and panicky in a second, eyes widening and breath leaving her lungs. For a moment she thought she might need to sit down, but stubbornness kept her up, her back ramrod straight.

"Excuse me? Nick, what the Hell is going on?"

He smiled that shark-smile at her, the one he usually reserved for people he wanted to intimidate or to keep at bay. She flinched but refused to show any reaction besides that, her eyes boring into his, daring him to explain himself. She wasn't about to back down, to cower just because he wished to play the beast.

"Well, dearie, I can take a hint. Never let it be said that Nicholas Gold clings to the unwilling. I'm a big man, there's no need for pretence or pussyfooting. I can see when a relationship is over just as well as any other idiot. You've been withdrawn for weeks now, pushing me away, shutting me out. Being secretive, lying. Can't say I didn't see it coming. You're now successful on top of beautiful, it was only a matter of time before you realized you could do better. Someone closer to your age, with less baggage and more charm. Someone more worthy."

The words were both a compliment and an insult. At any other time she'd have been able to handle things better, to be a voice of reason. But she was scared, and tired, and all her energy was going into not throwing herself into Nick's arms and telling him everything that was worrying her so he could make things better. No. She would be strong. She would handle things herself, decide her own fate. She had to. She marched up to the guest room he'd pointed out, opening the door to see that, indeed, all of her things were neatly stacked in there, from clothes and shoes to books and toiletries. She ran a hand through her hair, refusing to give in to panic even though she was sorely tempted.

"You're blowing this out of proportion. I apologized, Nick, and we are going through a rough patch, nothing to warrant this." She gestured wildly to her piles of things, felling her eyes water against her will. For a moment it looked like she'd gotten through to him. Doubt flashed across his eyes and his posture became hesitant. A second later he was back to being made of stone, unyielding.

"What are we supposed to do, then? Pretend we want the same things when we don't? Make it look like we're both invested equally on this relationship when it's quite clear you've moved on? That you don't have time for me anymore even though I've always bent over backwards to accommodate you, even back when you were a mere assistant and I was CEO of a fucking international corporation?" He was shouting, clutching his cane like he was fighting the urge to smash it against the nearest breakable object. "Are we meant to skip over the fact that you've been hiding something from months and that it involves overnight meetings with Jefferson for non-existent work problems?!"

Had she been a bit less angry she might have become scared. A part of her understood that he was in pain and lashing out, that he was insecure and more fragile than anyone knew and it was that insecurity, not any distrust of her that was prompting him to jump to stupid conclusions. But another part of her, a more vocal part, felt she hadn't done anything to warrant his doubt. She didn't have to constantly prove herself to him just because he'd been hurt in the past. Belle was not about to act like he was the only one allowed to have problems in their relationship, to be damaged. She was going through a hard time and, honestly, it should've been obvious to him.

"Enough! Enough with Jefferson, Nick, I don't have to prove to you that I'm not sleeping around, you should know it already. You should trust me, like I trust you!"

She was crying now, out of anger or misery she didn't know. She was scared and tired and Nick was supposed to be there for her, even if she wouldn't tell him what was going on. He was supposed to know her enough to trust her, to never even think she might be cheating on him. At the sight of her tears he stilled, once again looking unsure and he made a motion to approach her before he remembered they were fighting and he wasn't supposed to comfort her. It seemed to pain him, the distance between them when she was visibly faltering before him and he voice gentled when he pleaded to her:

"Just tell me the truth, Belle. Tell me and I'll apologize. I'll fucking grovel."

He looked years older, and as exhausted as she was. And suddenly the urge to tell him was almost overpowering and Belle had to dig her nails into her arms and bite her tongue to keep silent. He was being unfair, asking her to pay a price for his trust. She was not about to do penance for what other people, other women, had done to him. She walked silently into the guest-room, fishing through her belongings to locate the things she might need right away, and a tote bag to stuff them in. She avoided his eyes as she slipped past him and into the study, to don her coat and get her purse. When she got to the main door he was standing beside it, looking a bit desperate.

"Belle... Belle, just tell me. I don't want to believe the worst but... If you tell me I'll believe you, I swear I will."

It hurt to see him like that, but Belle couldn't find it in her heart to be charitable. He'd hurt her, he deserved what he got. She didn't.

"I'll arrange for someone to help me move the rest of my things out. I'll let you know in advance in case you don't want to be here when that happens."

Her voice was dead, and it almost sounded foreign to her ears. She watched him conceal his emotions behind a mask, harden in front of her at her refusal to yield, to give him what he needed to be secure in her love for him.

"I see. Good bye then, dearie."

Somehow she got downstairs, and the doorman hailed a cab for her. It seemed like the drive was endless but at last she found herself walking towards her apartment door, locking herself inside her home with a sigh. She slumped against the nearest wall, sliding down to curl up on a ball. She wanted to rest for a second, to think and feel nothing, catch her breath. A feverish knock on the door disrupted her peace seconds later, however, and Belle yanked the door open, ready to lash out at whoever was bothering her. She came face to face with an ecstatic Jefferson, top hat and all, with his arms around Mary Margaret's shoulders. The secretary seemed meek and tense but smiled at Belle all the same.

"Rabbit, Rabbit, you gotta hear this. I've uncovered the motherload. Snow White here has the most fascinating story to tell about the Queen of Hearts. You gotta listen to it, Rabbit!"

He was practically bouncing on the spot, beaming and holding onto the raven-haired woman like he was keeping her prisoner. Mary Margaret, on the other hand, looked much calmer, but also very reluctant.

"Did I ever tell you that Regina Mills used to be my step-mother?"

* * *

**A/N: I want to make it very clear that, yes, Belle and Nick and being idiots, Nick more than Belle. He's being rash and a bit of a Drama Queen, but I felt it was quite in character. A man with SUCH insecurities tries to propose 4 times and on the fourth one the potential bride just up and leaves? Harsh, even if Belle, poor her, didn't know she was being proposed to.**

**He's still an ass, though.**

**I also wanted to apologize for taking so long! And for not answering the people who asked about whether this story was going to be finished, which it totally is. Sometimes I have problems with my FF. Net account, but in my Tumblr I'm much easier to reach so I'd recommend contacting me through there. Thanks so much for your patient and I promise to not take so long with the last chapter!**


	3. Part Three

The story that unfolded once Mary Margaret and Jefferson made themselves comfortable inside her apartment seemed almost too good to be true, and some of the details seemed fantastic. Apparently Mary Margaret's mother, Eva, had died from a sudden aneurism when her friend had been quite young. Not long after her father, a well-meaning man wanting to provide his daughter with a female role model had gotten married again to a young, promising Finance Analyst, Regina Mills. The marriage hadn't lasted long, her father dying of liver failure, causes unknown, and Regina had quickly managed to gain control of his estate, setting up a fund in his name.

The company went bankrupt two years later, quite unexpectedly. Along with it had gone her trust fund and Mary Margaret had quickly found herself with little money to her name, since her trust was tied up till she turned twenty-one, and an uninterested step-mother who didn't feel the obligation to take care of her. Custody had gone to her mother's aunt, a kind woman named Johanna Smalls, who had raised her and cared for her, even putting her through college. It was during that time that she'd felt the need to look into what'd happened to her father's company. Her name had gained her access to a lot of information and documents and, through stealth, cunning and a bit of luck she had discovered shocking documents regarding money laundering and several other infractions. There were a lot of big names involved, including high-profile criminals, and it all led to the charitable foundation bearing her father's name... His final legacy. The sort of charity he'd dreamed of setting up ever since she could remember.

At the time she hadn't been able to bear the idea of tainting that legacy, his memory, in the eyes of the public. And she had been too scared of people that could come after her for doing so. Some were well-known mobsters, or drug lords, and the thought of facing such people just to send Regina to jail hadn't appealed. But she had kept all the papers, safe and sound, for a rainy day.

And it appeared to be storming like a bitch right now.

"You see, Rabbit, you see? We've hit the jackpot!" Jefferson was all over the place, dancing around the two subdued women "Just the threat of the documents will be enough for her to stand down. I promised Mary Margaret no legal action, no making it public, but it works in our favour. I just wish I could see the look in that bitch's face when she realizes she's been bested!"

Mary Margaret managed a small smile at that, but Belle could see the whole affair had brought back all the bad feelings linked to her father's death and Regina's betrayal. Setting aside her own feelings for a second she wrapped her arms around the brunette, mumbling words of gratitude. Jefferson was quick to plan the next steps, redacting the email that Belle finally sent to Regina letting her know she'd been found out and that they were willing to exchange their continuing silence for whatever proof she had against Moe French. Mary Margaret left Belle copies and retired soon after, no doubt to snuggle in the arms of her Charming and find comfort. Jefferson seemed a bit more reluctant to go. It was like he knew something had happened between her and Gold but couldn't bring himself to broach the subject. Only a call from "the debonair detective Swan" seemed to be able to rip him away from her side, albeit with promises of an "Ice-cream Night" spent watching season one of The Newsroom in their pyjamas.

When she finally found herself alone she called work and left a message she wouldn't be in on Monday, stripped out of her clothes, found her comfiest pyjamas and drape every single blanket on the apartment around herself. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and started crying.

It seemed like forever before Regina replied but by the following Friday a meeting had been arranged. Regina had agreed to organize an encounter between Belle and her associate, Mr Jones. Jones would deliver the originals of every scrap of paper Regina had managed to find against her father, after which Belle would call Jefferson, who would be waiting right by the offices of the District Attorney of New York County with a manila envelope full of Regina's worst nightmares. The moment Belle called him to tell him she had her father's safety in his hands he'd go back to the office and Mary Margaret would continue to keep what she knew to herself.

Jones had requested the East Docks as the venue, and taking into account that because of the time there were likely to be few people there Jefferson insisted on some form of protection. Regina would not hear of anyone else going to meet her man, and Belle was afraid that if she brought protection Jones would flee before giving her the documents she needed to keep her father safe. After all, Regina had tried to hold on to the papers, pointing out that as long as two people held incriminating evidence against each other neither could use it against the other. Jefferson, however, had been adamant Regina surrender her little atomic bomb. He didn't trust her, with good reason, and knew that Mary Margaret's evidence against her was a hundred times worse than anything she might have on Maurice French.

She came straight from the office, making a feeble excuse to Mal about being MIA for the rest of that day. Being aware of the break-up he boss/friend was treating her with kid gloves, being as nice as someone like Mallory could possibly be, which included several offers of alcohol throughout the day. She gathered her things, faked a smile to the blond Brit and went down the elevator, refusing the customary town car and hailing a cab instead. Steeling her nerves and thinking of her father Belle blurted out the address to an impatient cabbie, settling back on the seat to try and calm her nerves.

She could do it, she told herself, over and over and never quite believing it.

Mallory was in love, not deaf, blind and dumb. She hadn't gotten to where she was by completely ignoring what was going on around her. When Belle and Gold, that unmitigated idiot, had broken up, she'd known something strange was afoot on both sides. Belle had been acting strange for weeks, a nervous, jittery feel about her that she couldn't quite mask with smiles and cheer. She had thought that it might have something to do with her new position in the company and in the public eye, but the girl was maddeningly vague and closed-up about it, dismissing her enquiries easily. She had let it go, trusting Belle to know if and when she was in over her head and needed help.

That had quickly proven to be a dreadful mistake so instead of confronting Belle about it directly she had instructed Jefferson to keep tabs on her. If Belle had any problem that related directly to her new position in Uni Global she wouldn't go the her boss about it, but she was smart enough to ask for the Hatter's help if she ever needed it. A week ago she had gotten a text from the eccentric lawyer, simply informing her that "The Rabbit had hopped into his burrow", which she took to mean that the man was beyond psychological help and that Belle had finally confided in him and he was handling things.

The very next day she'd found out Nick and her were through. Had it been any other couple she might have rolled her eyes and predicted a swift reconciliation after a few days of bitching about the man and proclaiming the relationship "definitely over". But she knew Belle and, to her great misfortune, she knew Nick. Belle was not one to fight over trifles, much less end a relationship over them, and Nick was so pathetically besotted and acutely aware of just what a lucky bastard he was to have found love, the good kind, with a woman such as Belle that it would have had to take something drastic to prompt the separation.

She tried to stay out of it, she really did. She owed Gold no favours, had paid her dues a long time ago and was more than square with the Deal Maker, but she knew him enough to realize something was up and, since she did care about Belle, the girl's fault entirely, she couldn't very well sit idly by. Once she departed from the building she grabbed the phone, dialling Gold's private number by heart. Oh, how far the might have fallen...

"Hello, this is Nicholas Gold."

"It's Mal, Nick. Do I have to tear you a new one or are we going to skip the foreplay and go straight to the action? Your choice, old friend."

She made her voice sweet, inviting, knowing that it'd be more upsetting than biting anger. She heard Gold sigh heavily on the other side of the phone.

"I can't do this, Mal."

He sounded... ancient. Tired. Defeated. It was profoundly unsettling. Something akin to pity, or empathy, bloomed inside Mallory's heart, quite against her better judgement. Had anyone ever told her she'd feel sorry for Nicholas Gold a few years ago she'd laughed and probably thrown her drink at them for good measure. The years had made friends out of her enemies, it seemed, and not just enemies out of her friends.

"You can't do that? That's too bad because Belle is fucking fantastic."

The sarcasm was heavy in her tone, and mixed with a trace of worry. She had counted on the problem being that, somehow, Nick had let his temper get the better of him and all it'd need for him to realize his mistake- because it had to be fucking his, it always was- was some good, old-fashioned "pep talk", possibly involving a lot of cursing, guilt and alcohol. But she had been sorely mistaken... Something else had happened.

"I trust you to take care of her, Mal."

It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak. There was no mockery in Gold's voice, only exhaustion and raw, uncomfortable honesty. Faced with such an unexpected reaction Mallory fought to rally. She had gone to the trouble of calling, she wasn't about to give up on fixing Belle's relationship with the Wall Street Beast just because she'd hit a bump in the road. Something inside her, however, told her this was no minor bump. This was Nicholas Robert Gold completely and utterly broken, beyond caring if she realized it.

"Well, I can hardly keep her from having her heart fucking broken, now can I?"

But as she said that a heavy, unpleasant feeling begun to churn inside her. This wasn't just about Nick, as much as she wished it was. There was something else wrong with Belle, something that she was trying hard not to worry over. Jefferson would surely tell her if the situation was too dire.

"Well, she isn't the only one bloody suffering, now is she?" Gold's voice was coated in bitterness. "Even a beast has feelings, dearie."

He sounded angry and resentful, and Mal rather thought Gold must have been all alone with his pain. She steeled herself against the unpleasant flood of sympathy for him. Nick Gold might be lonely, but he was also used to it. The whole conversation was getting into a bizarre territory, she needed to steer it back in the right direction.

"Look, I called because, God help me, I know you. You love Belle. You want her back. And I want her happy, for some reason... The kid got to me. So you need to cooperate here and tell me what the hell happened."

She thought she would need a lot more to get two sentences out of him but, surprisingly, Gold just started talking, pouring his blackened little heart out almost against his will. Sometimes he sounded angry, at others sad and desperate and it was strange and uncomfortable to listen to. He talked about proposing- and Mal thought she might very well deserve some kind of medal for not laughing at all during that part- and about Belle's strange behaviour the last few weeks, about her pulling away from him, closing herself off. The more he described it the bigger the knot inside Mal's stomach grew. She begun to think she had underestimated the situation, because the Belle Gold described, particularly when he dissected, rather tonelessly, their last spat, sounded nothing like the woman she knew.

"Nick, I think you need to call Jefferson."

She wagered she didn't really need a phone to hear the snort that followed her statement.

"You're barking mad if you think I'll..."

"Call Jefferson. I'm dead serious, Nick. Something's wrong. Very wrong."

The barest hint of panic laced her words, and it was enough to plant a seed on doubt in Nicholas Gold's head. He hand up on Mal, intent on disregarding the growing unease inside of him, but as much as his pride demanded indifference he itched to pick up the phone and follow Mal's rather forceful order. He tried filling his head with numbers, projections and deals.

He hadn't expected Jefferson to call him, but with Mal's words ringing in his ears he couldn't find it in himself to hang up instantly. Something about the Hatter's tone rubbed him the wrong way too, a sort of hidden panic that was carefully masked by his usual manic self.

"Hello, Mr Gold, so glad to catch you. How are you? I'm splendid myself, in tip-top shape, had a check-up a few days ago, Grace makes me go regularly. Doc gave me the all-clear. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Belle if you have a moment and I hope you do because it's sort of a time-sensitive issue and I'd be really great if we could discuss it now. Like, now-now."

The rush of words left Gold temporarily stumped but soon anger began to take hold again. How convenient for Madden to seek him out to talk about Belle after having played a stellar role in fucking up his relationship with her.

Fucking perfect.

"Now why would I want to do that, dearie? I doubt I'll want to hear anything you have to say about Belle."

He wanted no details, no explanations, nothing. The less he knew about them the better.

"Oh, but you do, you most definitely do. It's trouble, big, big trouble. Maybe she's dead? I don't know. She won't answer the damn phone, you see."

Blood turned to ice on his veins and he could almost feel the colour draining from his face, leaving him ashen. The hand holding the receiver begun to shake slightly and he forced himself to breath and remember he was talking to someone who was probably certifiably insane.

"Elaborate. Now."

The Hatter begun to talk in frenzied sentences, talking about photographs, stalkers, threats, Belle's father and Regina. Little by little the businessman begun to piece everything together, and he forced himself not to panic. Nothing that involved Regina ever ended well but Belle was the sort of woman capable of keeping her wits about and think on the spot.

She was also dead the moment he got his hands on her. How could she have kept so much from him? The stalking was bad enough but... the blackmail? The reason why she'd left him high and dry on the night he was going to propose?

Another part of him, the part he couldn't concentrate on, was relieved. She hadn't been pulling away because she had fallen out of love with him. She had probably not even realized he was going to ask her to marry him at all. But with that relief also came guilt at the irrefutable evidence that Belle hadn't been sleeping around, like he had accused her of.

"Honestly, Gold, I cannot believe she managed to keep this from you. What did you think Belle was doing when she met me all those nights ago? Cheating on you?"

His silence spoke volumes and the Hatter's sudden frantic laughter was like nails on a chalkboard.

"Are you mad?" Rich, coming from him. "Have you seen the delectable Detective Swan handle her standard issue Glock 19? I like having two functional lungs and all my male organs intact, Spinner."

Shoving the topic aside he instructed Madden to get to the point of his fears. He could beat himself up for his spectacularly erroneous assumptions later.

"Well, it isn't Regina the one that worries me, Miss Blanchard pretty much helped us nail the coffin shut where she's concerned. But I did some digging regarding her associate and I have cause to believe that Mr Jones might not be under her complete control, and that could spell trouble for the little Rabbit."

"Jones?" Surely he couldn't be so unlucky. Jones was a common surname, after all. He imagined hundreds of people in NYC alone were named Jones...

"Killian Jones. Low-level hustler, nasty guy. I should've checked him out before I agreed that Belle go alone, I should've put my foot down, I know..."

"Leave it to me."

He hang up, willing himself not to freeze up. He'd almost forgotten about that part of his past, about the unsavoury memory of his ex-wife's nasty little boy-toy. Granted, Jones had sworn revenge at some point in time, but years had passed and nothing had happened. With his power and money it had been easy to forget, to put it out of his mind for good. Of course Belle would be the one to pay for his supposed sins.

The time called for action, self-recrimination could wait for later. He called for Dove in lieu of a company chauffeur. Unlike most of his staff Dove had made his living as a muscle for some disreputable characters. He owed his life and freedom to Gold and was, by far, his most loyal and dangerous employee. He also happened to have a ridiculously soft-spot for Belle, so he was sure that if a confrontation with Mr Jones went awry he could trust Dove to do the sensible thing and keep her safe. He then extracted his Walther PPK from the top locked drawer of his desk and checked to see it if it was fully loaded before pocketing it.

As he got into the back of a nondescript black sedan he marvelled at the sudden calm that washed over him. Finally, after so much confusion, he had a clear picture of what was going on under his fucking nose. He had knowledge, and with that came the power to act upon it, to control. He let anger, a much more manageable emotion, replace his panic. Anger at Jones and his misguided idea of revenge and justice, at Regina and her annoying little plots to one-up him and at Jefferson and his recklessness.

But above all, his anger focused on Belle. Stupid, reckless, prideful woman.

She better be okay.

At some point, while waiting on the rendezvous spot for Killian Jones, Belle acknowledged to herself that she'd made a lot of mistakes and bad decisions and she's was smack in the middle of one of her biggest ones. The place was more deserted than she'd thought. The gigantic containers around her added an air of privacy she hadn't expected and didn't welcome at all, but it was too late to back down now. Calling Jefferson would only worry him needlessly, as he'd lack the time to do anything. Besides, Mr Jones might not take kindly to see her on the phone, and she couldn't risk her father's safety from jail just because she had a bad feeling. She very much doubted Regina would risk Jefferson going to the authorities with the evidence against her.

She smoothed down her pale-peach shirt, the gauzy fabric letting a hint of the black camisole beneath show, and tried to appear calm, on top of things. In her mind, however, the sinking realization that she should've told Nick was ever-present. Had someone else come to her with such a problem she'd have stressed that there was no shame in asking for help, in needing a hand. Why had she been so blind to her own counsel?

The sharp heel of her booties made quite a noise as it struck the pavement so she tried not to fidget, to better hear when someone else approached. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she heard footsteps growing closer. When she turned, as nonchalant as possible, she noticed a man, roughly in his forties, wearing a leather coat and dark, non-descript clothing underneath. He had a stubble, but somehow the look seem forcibly unkempt, the roguish sort of look that took people hours to perfect. He was smoking and eyeing her up and down, but Belle focused her attention on the manila envelope he carried. That was her father's future, and she was close to saving it.

"Hello, luv. You're the Beauty I'm supposed to be meeting here, right?"

He had a heavy accent, Irish unless she was mistaken, and a charm about him that Belle found cloying and false. She fought against the urge to take a few steps back, managing a nod.

"Mr Jones, I presume."

"Call me Killian, luv. No need for formalities or ceremony. And no reason why we can't get along. Sorry about the pictures and all, by the way. Boss lady's order, you understand."

He looked like he was actually expecting her to drop her guard. He also looked too pleased about running an errand for Regina Mills on a Friday night.

"I'll just take the envelope and be on my way."

She tried to be polite for expedience's sake, but Jones didn't look at all ready to deliver the envelope and be on his way. True fear threatened to grip her, and she pushed it down firmly, though she was sure her expression betrayed her wariness. It was clear that Jones wasn't here to be a good delivery boy and go on his merry way... he wanted something else. Whatever it was terrified her.

"Not so far, beauty. You came all the way here, might as well stay for a while. Give a poor soul like me a few minutes of your time."

She took a few steps back, as discreetly as she could, and thought about breaking into a run when she saw him smile at her uneasiness. But he still held the manila envelope tucked against his body. One of his hands, both of which he'd kept inside his coat pockets, rose, the silver steel of a knife glinting in the scarce light of a nearby lamp post.

"Now, now, beauty, let's not think about getting away. The night's young and so are we, let's make the best of it. I'm not like your crocodile, darling, who likes to hide away in his big, boring mansion and count his pennies."

The man smiled even wider at her confused expression.

"Oh, you didn't know I knew Nick Gold, did ya? Yes, he and I go way back, darling. You know, of course, that he was married. She was a lovely lass, let me tell you, vivacious, sparkling, beautiful. More than he deserved, much more. Vera was sunshine and colour and he was such a bore, even way back then. When we met it was love at first sight. When her hubby decided to pursue graduate school she decided she'd had enough of that insipid life and ditched the bore to be with me."

Nick had mentioned Vera a scant few times, and never with affection. Belle had always taken what he told her with a grain of salt. After all the woman had left him for another. No man would be kind in such circumstances. She'd never expected to meet the man she'd fallen in love with, and Nick had never spoken of him, but clearly there was something more than a cheating spouse between the two of them.

"Vera was loyal, and loving and everything she couldn't be with him. We made each other happy and I worked hard to give her all she deserved. But I've never been much good with honest work. I prefer shady stuff, it's what I do best, luv." While he talked he waved the knife around and half of Belle's attention was inevitably drawn to it. The other half was trying hard to figure out what the purpose of the story he was telling her was.

"Things were going okay, but we hit a rough patch. Had to borrow a lot of cash from the wrong people. We couldn't pay, you see, but it wasn't really an option. By then the crocodile had managed to amass quite a neat little fortune, a business empire. Vera thought he was the answer and sought him out, sure he'd help out his ex for the sake of their past. After all she'd been with him throughout college, had nurtured and supported him... The way we saw it he owed her. But he turned her away, no matter how much she pleaded. He didn't care. That beast has thick skin, my beauty, and couldn't care less about the woman who he had once professed to love. A few days later the loan shark cut off my hand, promising to come back for the rest of me. When Vera went to deliver all the money we had, with the promise of the rest soon to come, she was killed."

His voice was like ice, the anger simmering in his eyes. He grasped the knife more tightly, and Belle begun to feel as those she was finally piecing everything together. This was about revenge. Jones had used Regina to try and get to Gold and when she'd failed to involve him in her problem he'd decided to take more drastic action. Involving her. And a knife.

"I'm... I'm sorry she died," she managed to croak out, wishing her voice sounded stronger, more confident. The twilight had given way to the evening and, aside from a few street lamps, there was little light around them, the containers making the open space look small and confined.

"Yeah, well, sadly your boyfriend didn't have the bleeding heart you do, love. Refused to acknowledge it was his fault Vera died when I confronted him. And I'm pretty sure he got me landed in jail, whispered a few words to the right person to properly screw me over and bury me where he wouldn't need to deal with me. But I... I have a way to make friends. I'm a friendly man. A man's man. And I do what I do best... I survive. And I come out on top."

He had come very close to her while talking and Belle found herself retreating once more. Quick as lightning, however, the hand that wasn't holding the knife darted to her waist, snagging her somehow. When she looked down she saw that instead of a hand he had a hook and had deftly looped it around one of the belt loops of her black pants. He pressed the flat of the knife against her throat, so delicately it was almost like a lover's caress.

"I spent a lot of time imagining how I'd pay the crocodile back for what he took from me, but it wasn't till he got stupidly infatuated with you that I began to see a way. Regina, of course, had no fucking idea I was using her, he was content thinking she had hired some mindless lackey with a bit of a sour history with dear old Nick. Never realized it all went much deeper."

Before she knew it her back hit the metallic wall of one of the containers, Jones taking advantage of it to press her up against it. It was the closeness couple with the way he seemed intent on nudging a knee between her thighs that almost sent her into an outright panic. Suddenly the knife wasn't as much of a threat as other parts of him and her mind came alive with dozens of gruesome scenarios much worse than death. His face was too close for comfort and in his eyes she could see it... Intent.

"Come, come, sweet, no need to struggle so. I'm not a bad man, I don't wish to hurt you. You're just going to be a... a message, so to speak. Maybe you'll even like it, sweetheart, who knows?"

He let the blade trail down her neck, making a superficial slice on her collarbone as it inched closer to the first button of her shirt. Fighting through the fear that threatened to paralyze her she managed to grasp the wrist of the hand holding the knife and pull it away from her skin. She then took a deep, calming breath and screamed as loud as she could.

The place was a maze of containers, shrouded mostly in darkness, and for a long time Gold felt like he was walking around in circles. He'd instructed Dove to stay by the car and, if he wasn't back in an hour, to use the GPS on his phone to track him down. Jones would certainly underestimate a man with a limp but he'd become violent and skittish if he spotted the hulking bodyguard. Belle was safer if he played on Killian's misconceptions.

When he heard the scream he didn't know whether to be relieved or scared right out of his fucking mind. He ran as fast as his shoddy knee would allow him in the direction of the noise, his keen sense of hearing soon picking up the sounds of a struggle. Good girl, his Belle, fighting tooth and nail. He took out his gun, making sure the safety was off before gripping it tightly, very glad he'd taken pains to learn how to shoot with his left hand.

He spotted them easily, Belle's peach-coloured blouse standing out amidst the dim lighting. She was being shoved quite violently against the wall of a container, Jones looming over her with a knife at her throat and his hook snagged on her hip. The bastard spotted him from afar, tightening his grip on Belle and pressing the blade closer to her skin.

"Ah, crocodile! Wasn't expecting you, but it's a lovely surprise all the same."

Jones was grinning from ear to ear, and only the fact that his body was partially shielded by Belle's kept him from shooting the bastard then and there, particularly when he saw that he had a knee between Belle's thighs.

"Let her go. Now."

He injected as much authority and power into those words as he could, keeping the gun trained on Killian's head. It was a clear shot and he'd take it if he so much as breathed the wrong way near Belle. The idiot laughed at him, acting as if he had the upper hand. Clearly he didn't know Belle very well if he imagined this was a fight between just the two of them. It served his purposes, though, to have him dismiss her so. He just had to wait for her to see an opening and act on it.

"Now why would I want to do that? She's quite entertaining, Gold. Feisty, just how I like them."

He detached the hook from her waist to let it trail over her ass, and Gold breathed deeply in order to remain calm. Killian was trying to goad him into letting his anger cloud his judgement, he needed to get a grip and remain calm.

"Is this about Vera, Jones? Because, frankly, I'm getting tired of the old song and dance. I thought you'd moved on."

Nothing unhinged Killian Jones like the mention of his ex-wife. Once upon a time, and for entirely different reasons, he'd been like that. The Irishman, indeed, rose to the occasion, baring his teeth at him and completely disregarding Belle, though he still kept a tight grip on her.

"You don't get to speak her name, crocodile! You're the reason she's dead, and you're gonna feel what it is to lose someone you love! And all your fucking power will mean nothing, nothing!"

He was trembling with rage, and a slip of the hand caused the knife to slip and leave a thin, long gash along Belle's left forearm. She bit back a cry and Gold lurched forward before Jones placed the knife back against her neck.

"Stay where you are, crocodile."

He halted at once, gripping his cane tightly with one hand and his Walther PK with the other.

"Let her go. She has nothing to do with this. You wanted me, dearie? Well, here you have me. But let her go."

Jones snorted.

"Does it seem fair, you with a gun and I with a knife and my hook? Drop the weapon and I'll think about letting this little beauty go free. After all, I'm not anything like you. And I happen to be a gentleman."

The most terrifying thing about Killian was that he believed half the things he said. He seemed to have been on the verge of sexually assaulting a woman who he was pinning up against a wall and still he called himself a gentleman and believed it wholeheartedly.

Reluctantly he lowered the gun to the floor, kicking it forward when instructed to do so. It slid till it was halfway between them. Jones, too busy eyeing the weapon on the floor, took his attention completely away from Belle. She took full advantage, ramming her heel hard on his right foot and shoving him away when he lifted his injured foot off the ground and lost his balance. She ducked away from him, evading his hook as it attempted to catch a bit of clothing at her back. When he realize she was out of his reach Jones lunged for the gun, but Nicholas managed to slam the hilt of his cane against the man's shoulder.

The Irishman went down heavily, a surprised look on his face and suddenly all the pent-up rage Gold had inside needed to get out. Jones had stolen his first wife, written him off as a cripple, attempted to terrorize him but, above all that, he'd tried to harm Belle in an effort to get to him. Had worried and scared her for weeks, driving a wedge between them. He was to blame for everything, his fault, his entirely and he swung the cane over and over, wanting the man to feel a tiny bit of the pain he'd put him through. The pain he'd put Belle through. At some point he discarded the cane in favour of his own fists, uncaring of the fact that punching him required a proximity that put him close to the man's hook. He hardly felt the attempts Jones made at slashing at him with it, the weapon getting snagged on his sleeves.

He thought he heard someone talking, but it was difficult to tell over the roaring of the blood in his ears. Jones was grunting in pain, his face bloody and his hand an hook clutching his torso. But it was not enough, no matter how satisfying. Like a rabid dog Jones needed to be put down once and for all. He would not live looking over his shoulder, feeling like a coward. He'd take control.

He found the gun lying a few feet away, kicked there in the scuffle. He picked it up and aimed it carefully at the spot between Jones's eyes. No need to make the man bleed to death. He'd be quick about it, show him more mercy than he deserved. It was then that he once again heard a voice, and felt hand land on his extended arm. The touch was soft, warm, loving.

"Don't do it, Nick. Walk away. Come with me."

A part of him wanted to ignore her, wanted to revel in the idea of spilling the Irishman's brains all over the pavement. But he found himself lowering the gun all the same, the rage subsiding. Jones wasn't worth it in any case. His attention shifted to Belle, who was pressing herself against his left side, shaking. Leftover adrenaline, most likely, though the night was chilly and she was frightfully underdressed for it.

"You're a lucky man, Mr Jones. But I'd get out of town and never return if I were you."

He grasped one of Belle's hands and tugged her gently away. He felt... numb, as if every emotion in him had suddenly been snuffed out. His knee was killing him, the adrenaline had left him shaky and unsettled and only Belle's hand in his own kept him grounded. With a bit of effort he managed to locate the town car, the hulking figure of Dove looming beside it. The gentle giant smiled surreptitiously after spotting Belle but otherwise showed no emotion, opening the door for them. Gold let himself drop heavily on the leather seat, closed his eyes, tipped his head back and sighed.

What a mess.

The ride back was long and silent. At some point they stopped holding hands, and Belle had to bite her lip to keep herself from making a soft noise of protest. She curled up on a corner of the backseat, trying to process everything. She clutched the manila envelope she'd rescued from the floor, wishing she could burn it right then and there. Tears gathered in her eyes, relief, fear, shock and confusion battling inside of her. Nick was a glacial presence beside her, his eyes closed and barely moving. She wanted, foolishly, to erase the distance separating them and curl up on his side, force him to wrap his arms around her till she stopped shaking but she didn't dare. She had chosen to go about things alone, had made a conscious decision to keep him out of the loop. It seemed so stupid, in retrospective, so arrogant and idiotic. She should've known she was in way over her head, should've asked for help when she needed it.

"I'm sorry," she managed to croak out, looking at her hands. "I was stupid and reckless and I should've told you everything from the get-go but I was so caught up in being my own person and standing on my own two feet that I got stupid." Tears started spilling down her cheeks and she tried hard not to sob openly. This was all her fault, she didn't get to have a meltdown.

Once she'd started talking it was easier to tell the whole story from the beginning. Gold remained impassive and almost unresponsive a few inches away, not giving any indication he could hear her. After a while she felt silent once more, exhaustion making her close her eyes and doze off. Dove woke her up gently some time later, helping her out of the vehicle with the softest touch possible. She had expected to see the familiar sights of her neighbourhood, but met instead the imposing facade of Gold's building, the man himself crossing the entrance. Dove ushered her in as well and she reluctantly stepped into the private elevator with Nick, trying hard to pretend the situation wasn't awkward.

Walking into the penthouse felt ridiculously like coming home. She'd missed the cluttered, eccentric mess and the smell, not to mention the view. Without some of her things scattered around it looked a bit naked, but Nick hadn't felt the need to fill the empty spaces with anything. She went straight to the guest room, fishing out the first aid kit from beneath the sink in the bathroom and went about cleaning up the rivulets of blood and applying antiseptic to the cuts. They were shallow things, more like long paper cuts. They stung, but she'd live. A few bruises were blooming on her skin, direct consequence of Mr Jones's gentlemanly touch, but otherwise she was fine. She kicked off her booties with relish, massaging her feet as she contemplated what she was supposed to do. Was Nick meant to come fetch her? Would Dove come back? Was she supposed to go away on her own when she was ready?

The uncertainty made her uncomfortable, but she sat down on the bed to wait it out. At some point she dozed off again, and when she woke up she had a cashmere throw, one she knew well, slung over her curled-up form. Most of the apartment was quiet and dark, and the only light came from the master bedroom. She tiptoed there, expecting to see Nick either asleep with the lights on or stewing. He wasn't in the bedroom, but the door to the bathroom was wide open. Belle peeked inside, surprised when she saw Gold was leaning with both hands on either side of the sink, his head bent and his hair obscuring his face. He was sans his jacket and vest, his shirt torn in places where Jones had managed to dig his hook into. His knuckles were bleeding, skinned badly and bruised in places and he had kicked off his shoes and belt but little else.

He seemed to be out of it and Belle hazarded he'd been like that for a long time. Mustering up all her bravery she quickly ducked out to retrieve the first aid kit she'd used earlier and then returned, stepping into the bathroom unannounced and taking Nick by the arm to gently turn him around. He let her, not fighting her when she begun to unbutton his shirt and then tugged it off, letting it flutter to the floor. His thin cotton shirt let her inspect his arms, a few bruises starting to show and several cuts sporting crusted blood. She made small, upset little noises as she traced each and every cut with her fingers, exploring to see if any needed medical attention.

She washed the cuts in warm water, cooing nonsense when it was apparent they stung, and carefully applied antiseptic. She paid special attention to his skinned knuckles, recalling how savage he'd seemed when he'd beaten Jones to within an inch of his life.

"This will hurt for a while. I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry."

On impulse she cradled both his hands in hers and lifted them up to her lips, carefully kissing his injuries. The antiseptic tasted bitter but she kissed every knuckle slowly, wanting to convey properly her feelings. She wasn't talking about the injuries and they both knew it. She'd wounded him deeper by not trusting him, by keeping her problems a secret from him. She'd always trusted him, despite the rest of the world doing the exact opposite.

"You _lied_ to me."

His voice was gruff, dark. His hands shot out to clutch at her arms, the grip gentle enough on her bruised skin. Belle fought the sudden need to retreat, to step away from his reach and run. But she'd created the mess, she needed to clean it up.

"I'm sorry. I wanted... I wanted to prove myself. To stand on my own two feet."

"So I'm some sort of obstacle in your way? That's what you see me as? A crutch to be avoided? A bad habit?"

His voice rose in volume, disbelief making him high-pitched. He tried to stagger out of her arms but she pressed forward, intent on finishing her task. They might not be together anymore, and she might have fucked things up for good but he still needed to take care of himself better and she'd force him to do it if that's what it took.

"No! I was stupid, I wasn't thinking! I'm just so afraid all the time of not measuring up, of not being good enough! There were- are- so many expectations and I got caught up in trying to meet them, in trying to prove that I'm worthy..."

Insecurity wasn't something he associated with Belle and it took Nick by surprise, making him pause. She was just so... confident, all the time. Always smiling, always brave, always optimistic. His little Belle, so much better than him in so many ways... He'd always assumed she saw herself the same way, but was kind enough to overlook HIS many flaws.

"I... I begged you to tell me. You should have told me. You could have... Belle, that man could've..."

He couldn't say it, but the unspoken words hung in the air between them. He was half-worried and half-angry, his mind refusing to stop concocting up all manner of gruesome scenarios.

"All that talk about trust, and all the while you'd been lying to me for weeks. Weeks! I'm supposed to be the person you can tell anything to, Belle. I've... I've forced myself to be vulnerable for you so many times! _I've laid myself at your feet!_"

He turned his back on her, escaping the bathroom but making no move to go beyond the bedroom. He raked his hands through his hair, a nervous gesture Belle knew too well. Everything about him was an open book she'd learned to read a long time ago and she wondered, for a moment, how she'd react to discovering there were sides of him he'd purposefully kept from her. Over time she'd coaxed him to shed his layers, never pausing to contemplate she might not be repaying him in kind.

"I... I didn't realize." Her voice sounded small but sincere enough to manage to appease him a little. She'd always been other people's support system, the friend always there to help. She hadn't thought about how little she asked for help from others, how the mere idea made her uncomfortable. She'd thought the idea of going to Nick for help repelled her because she had something to prove, but now she wondered if it went somehow deeper.

"You asked for my trust but weren't willing to give me yours in return. How is that fair?"

He sounded exhausted, defeated, and it almost made her cry again. Lashing out was almost automatic.

"And how's it fair that you thought I was cheating on you? When I've never given you a reason to doubt me like that. I can't keep paying some for other woman's mistakes."

Belle might have never known Vera but the woman had ended up impacting her life in unexpected, insidious ways. And every time she thought she was finally vanished the ghost of Nick's ex-wife returned. She hated it when he doubted himself and hated him when he doubted them. It felt like a slap in the face every time he let the past fill him with doubts and suspicions regarding their relationship.

"Don't try and change the subject! What I did was wrong, and I'm trying to do better, but you were the one who almost got herself killed for her stupid pride!"

He was snarling, leaning on the sink to compensate for his bad leg. His undershirt was spotted with blood, some of his cuts oozing again. He had kicked off his shoes at some point and not even his expensive pants could make him look the least bit civil. For Belle it was a maddening feeling, knowing that she was right but he was more so, and wanting to both inflict pain and apologize till her throat was raw. She approached him with the intention to slap him and beg him to forgive her at the same time, and somehow that got tangled up in her head and she ended up fisting her hands on his undershirt, rising up on her tiptoes and kissing him, hard. It felt like punishment and atonement at the same, time, brutal and soft.

He responded in kind, hauling her close, pressing her almost uncomfortably against his body as he opened his mouth to hers. Her tongue easily found the spots inside that made Nick moan and grunt. His hands splayed across her back, fingers digging into her skin as they explored everywhere, needing to feel her. She was warm, even through the gossamer fabric of her blouse and the silkiness of her camisole, and yet he could feel her tremble, vibrating with energy. He wanted to drink it all in, to somehow find the way to bind them together beyond their flesh and bone, in the most primal and basic way there was. Belle, it seemed, was of the same idea, pressing herself as much as she could against him, seeking out his skin beneath his t-shirt, running her nails roughly down his back in a way that had him moaning in obvious approval. He'd missed having evidence of Belle in his life, her things around the apartment, a hint of faded, smudged lipstick on his cheek, faint trace of her perfume around his collar. But those scratches, her scratches, would linger, would remind him of her every time they stung under the spray of the shower or forced him to sleep on his stomach. He welcomed them, biting back the need to beg her to press deeper, make them longer.

It felt like they were still arguing, with tongues and teeth instead of words and accusations. She left his back alone only to yank on his hair, his scalp tingling in utter bliss at the familiar tugging sensation he didn't realize he'd missed. He growled in appreciation, shifting them both around so he could haul her atop the sink and grant her an easier access to his hair while his hands struggled to undo the buttons of her shirt. It was made out of a thin, scratchy material and was torn in places where Jones had dug his hook and the mere memory of Belle in that man's arms, struggling and shaking and trying to be brave in spite of the cuts and bruises already on her body, had him ripping the garment off of her. The camisole was unceremoniously yanked above her head, Nick immediately pressing his palms against the bared skin with something akin to a sigh of relief. He felt her contort so she could unclasp her bra, pushing him away so she could shrug the garment off while he got rid of his t-shirt. New bruises were already appearing on his skin and he let her brush the tips of her fingers against them, cooing softly and making nonsensical little noises of comfort while he breathed raggedly and fought to get a hold of himself.

After a while she pulled him back against her, skin touching skin. Her legs went around his waist, heels pressing against his ass to encourage him closer. She slanted her lips against his, tongues readily meeting each other over and over, their time apart feeling both like a lifetime and a second. It was artless and desperate and sheer fucking heaven, particularly when he left her lips, swollen and wet because of him, to scrape his teeth against her skin, nudging her head back so he could suckle at the spot right where the beginning of her jaw met her throat. It might have been Belle's skin, but that spot was his by right and he'd missed it fiercely.

His hands left her back to travel lower, clawing at the fabric of her pants with blunt nails, a growl escaping him at the unwelcomed feel of clothing instead of Belle. He grappled for the button and fly of her pants, but the position didn't allow anything other than unhelpful attempts to unclothe her. His hands went to her waist then, easily coaxing her onto her feet and out of the bathroom. He let himself lean heavily on her, his face pressing against her neck, sucking on the skin where it met her shoulder. He didn't protest when she pushed him up against a wall, her nimble fingers quickly ridding him of his belt and undoing his pants, tugging them down with force till they pooled on the floor. He returned the favour with uncoordinated fervour, his teeth on her neck as clumsy and eager as his hands at her waist. Soon enough he was dragging her pants down, bending awkwardly on account of his bad knee.

Once down he took her time peeling the stockings off her legs, breathing in the subtle smell of her. He pressed his forehead against the soft flesh of her stomach, thinking of how he'd imagined resting his hands there while they posed for wedding pictures, stroking it softly to feel their child inside of her, spending lazy afternoons resting his head against it while she caressed his hair and read the Times out loud. He'd built up a life inside his head, a life for them both, and didn't know whether to cling to it or mourn it.

_"Nick..."_

The naked need in her voice made him shudder and muffle a moan against her skin, planting a kiss right over the waistband of her panties and trailing his lips upwards as he scrambled up as elegantly as possible. Belle grabbed him by the hair, pulling on it as she pressed fleeting, teasing kisses on his lips. She was leading him to the bed but he forced her to change course, walking her backwards towards the white chaise longue right against the massive windows of the room. It was an old, gorgeous piece restored to perfection, the silk brocade rich and luxurious but, more than all that, it was the most exposed area of the room. His living room had a lovely view of central park but his bedroom had a full city view, with sprawling skyscrapers dotted with tiny lights. Each one of those lights was a room in someone else's home. Some were close enough to distinguish furniture and people as they went about their day, which meant those same people could see a nude Belle, hair wild and lips swollen, pushing him into the longue and straddling him, hips snug against his and hands on his chest. He might be thin and old and lame, but he had a beautiful woman on top of him, warm and alive and wanting him, and he wanted everyone to see. He imagined plenty of stupid little boys had looked at Belle during their time apart, thinking they had a right to let their eyes linger in inappropriate places. The mere idea had tormented him for weeks, making him snap at investors and snarl at Mary Margaret.

They had no right to stare, Belle belonged to him and the way she loomed over him on the chaise, her body holding his down, showed everyone he belonged to her. It was a claim, and they both knew it. He had lost count of the number of times he'd arrived to a meeting sporting a love bite on the top side of his neck, Belle well aware he liked her to mark him where no shirt or suit jacket would cover it. He'd missed those marks, and the knowledge that each one had a twin on her own body. He'd missed being hers, utterly and completely and he almost purred when she bent down and closed her mouth around the skin between his neck and left ear, wetting the surface before sucking greedily.

"_Yes, yes, please_!" He arched beneath her, bracing himself on the edges of the chaise. "_Harder, Belle, fucking harder._"

She complied, stroking his throat with her hands as she scraped her teeth against the budding bruise, a bit of pain mingling with the pleasure. He howled, hoping desperately that everyone in the vicinity could hear him. Belle's grip on the base of his neck was deliciously possessive, and he gave into the impulse to splay his hands across her back, embedding his blunt nails into her skin in a way that had her thrusting her hips against his. He could tell she was wet through her panties and his boxers and he wiggled desperately, trying to draw attention to the fact that there was still fabric between them and that was not acceptable. He kneaded the sides of her waist, his fingers pointedly brushing the lace of her underwear over and over till Belle made a small, desperate little noise on the back of her throat and scrambled off of him, shimming out of her panties while he tore his boxers off with little finesse, kicking them to the floor somewhere. Soon enough his lap was once more full of Belle, skin pressed snuggle against skin as she leaned over to kiss him, tugging on his hair to get him to tilt his head to the side.

Abruptly she hissed, and Nick broke the kiss to look her up and down, wanting to know the reason for her distress. It took him little to realize one of his hands was pressing against a scratch on her side, no doubt made when she'd escaped Jones. He squashed the initial impulse to fret over it, pressing his palm roughly against it instead.

"Feel that, dearie?" He asked, voice rough and dark. "Hope it hurts, sweetheart. It's what you get for being stupid and careless and it better hurt, and it better last so you'll think twice before risking your neck in such an idiotic way."

He hissed the last part, digging his fingers into the cut one last time before pulling away, looking suddenly weary, almost exhausted.

"Please, Belle, I... Just don't. I can't..."

She cut him off with a deep kiss, grabbing the sides of his face and holding him in place.

"I'm sorry," she whispered against his lips before caressing his tongue with hers over and over. She slid her hands down slowly, trying to bring comfort without words. He didn't need words, he needed actions. She lowered her head to trace her lips across his injuries, taking time to lick every cut and kiss every bruise. He was restless beneath her, muttering in a thick brogue she seldom heard from him. It was a mixture of pleas and expletives, anger and helplessness that she tried to soothe away one at a time. He grunted suddenly when her fingers found his cock, looking like it'd been hard and ready for a long while. She slid her nails carefully across it, from base to tip, listening carefully as his whimpers turned to moans.

When he started bucking into her touch she wrapped her hand around him, the other stroking his left flank soothingly, and started pumping. He didn't seem to want to stay still beneath her, his fingers kneading into her hips rather painfully before traveling upwards to tease her ribcage and cupping her breasts. The feeling sent a jolt of electricity through her, making her breathe deeply through her nose to calm down.

"Missed you so fucking much..." His words were slurred but understandable even over the roaring of her blood on her ears. "All the time. Missed your things, your fucking perfume on my sodding shirts, stubbing a toe on an abandoned pile of books in the middle of the goddam foyer..." He howled when she cupped his balls and retaliated by pinching her nipples with just the right amount of force. "Every fucking time something happened I wanted to call you to talk about it but I couldn't and it _fucking_ hurt..."

He keened loudly all of a sudden, arching his back and yanking her hands away forcefully.

"No, not like this... Please, Belle, please, _please_..."

Her body moved without conscious thought, her hips shifting to take him inside of her. He felt hot and hard, and even though she was very wet it was a struggle to adjust to him being in her. On instinct her inner muscles gripped him tightly, as if afraid he'd go away. She willed herself to relax, scared for a moment of being overwhelmed by everything. Nick's hands kneaded her breasts softly now, as if having his cock inside her had drained him of a large part of his anxiousness. Belle thought he might have transferred it all to her because suddenly she felt antsy, fill to the brim with energy she needed to release. She rose on her knees till she felt his erection almost slip out of her before sinking back against him. It didn't take long for her to find a rhythm that turned the dull pulsating sensation inside of her into a burning need, uncomfortable and perfect at the same time. She couldn't find it in herself to care that they were sweaty, or that some of her cuts, particularly the one he'd dugs his fingers into, were open and oozing trickles of blood. All she cared about was that she needed him harder, and more, because she was going to go out of her fucking mind if she didn't come soon but somehow that just wasn't happening.

"Stop thinking. Stop going away from me. Be with me, sweetheart. Here." He pushed his torso upwards till he was precariously sitting on the chaise, and wrapped his hand around her neck, yanking her close for a kiss. His other hand traced a fiery pattern down her chest, over her belly and past the nest of curls he adored so much. It took him next to no time to locate her clit, grazing it with his thumb before rubbing more firmly. She began to shudder above him to the point that when he pressed his face against the side of her neck he could feel the skin vibrate.

"I've heard you scream for Jones tonight. Now I need you to scream for me. _Scream_, Belle." He pinched her clit, making her jolt. "Be a good girl and scream for me, darling."

A twist was all it took for her to climax, crying out his name for the world to hear. Her shriek pushed him over the edge as well, his balls tightening before he spilled himself inside her, the orgasm seeming to last forever. He barely felt his knee protest when Belle fell over him, skin covered in cold sweat and chest heaving. He stood on shaky legs, stumbling a few feet towards the bed and sluggishly ripping off the covers, urging Belle beneath them. He wasted no time wrapping himself around her from behind, his entire body sighing in relief. This is how he was supposed to sleep always. This was right.

He dozed off, waking up hours later to find Belle's lips and hands all over him. They coupled slowly, trapped in that space between dreaming and waking. The slight pain from the cuts and bruises eased Nicholas panicked mind, letting him know that he wasn't imagining her in his arms, warm and soft and utterly wonderful, and when exhaustion once again settled over him he didn't fight it. When he woke up a second time, reaching out to her, he found the other side of the bed cold. He shot up immediately, fighting the bile that rose.

"Belle? Belle!"

She appeared almost at once, wearing her underwear and the black camisole and biting her lip in a way he knew meant she was feeling guilty about something. She could barely look at him in the eye.

"I... I thought it'd be best for me to go. I was gonna wake you up when I was dressed. I... I thought it'd make things less awkward. I've caused you enough problems."

"Get in here _now_."

Cold fury coated his voice, leaving no room for argument. Belle slid inside the covers, eyes tearing up. His hands delved into her hair, smoothing out the curls.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so... I..." He sighed, pressing his lips against her temple. "I just woke up alone and thought... No, don't cry, Belle, don't cry. Tell me what's going on. Please. What did I do?"

Whatever he said made her sob harder and he cursed loudly before pulling her into his arms. She seemed to come apart then, crying into his shoulder, her whole body shaking. He held her close as she broke down, muttering comforting nonsense as he stroked her hair. It took a while for her to calm down but she finally did so, leaning her back against his front and hiccupping every now and then.

"Night finally caught up to you?"

She nodded, burying her face against the side of his neck and breathing in his scent.

"What happened at the docks was stressful, it's only natural to cry."

He was too emotionally and physically exhausted to do so. Otherwise he felt he would've been bawling his eyes out. Belle shook her head.

"It's not that. It's... it's this. I... I screwed this up. When I woke up you had your arms around me and I was sleepy and content and thought that I never wanted to leave the bed..." She paused, sniffling in a rather unbecoming way. "And then I realized that I meant it. I wanted... I want... forever. But I messed it up and now it's never gonna happen and I thought it'd be best if I left quietly because I..."

He twisted away from her, opening the drawer of his nightstand to pull out a black ring box, which he pressed into her hands.

"I agonized over how to do this properly. In my dream scenario you weren't crying, or bruised, or emotionally drained but at least nothing's on fire and neither of us is throwing up." He watched her open the box, gasping at the sight of the ring, which he hope was big enough to compensate the way he was fucking the proposal up. "Marry me, Belle. We can work everything out, we can talk until we're blue in the face, but... I want you to marry me. Marry me and we'll never leave this bed if that's what you want."

She laughed, nodding and offering her left hand so he could slide the ring on her finger. When the bed sheets didn't spontaneously caught fire he allowed himself to relax, pulling her down to lay beside him, kissing her and allowing the knot in his chest to loosen. They would talk more in the morning, start to work things out properly but it all could wait a while. They were in no rush, after all. They had forever.

"It's Sunday evening. I need to go, Nick."

Gold grunted, tightening his grip on Belle's waist and nipping at her nape for daring to suggest they get up.

"No leaving. Dove will pick out clothes and have them here in the morning for work. You stay."

She giggled at his tone and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"It's not about work. I just remembered I promised a friend I'd help her out on an errand she couldn't do."

He wasn't impressed.

"Dove do errand. We stay."

"Okay then." Her voice was suspiciously sweet and accommodating. "Then call Dove and tell him I'm supposed to go to the Starbucks I used to work. The security system broke down so I was supposed to let the repairman from the security company in after work tomorrow, around seven, and hand him the keys after checking his ba... what are you doing?"

From then on it was all a flurry of movement and confusion as Nick yanked her out of bed, limping around the room and tossing clothes around. He shoved a pair of socks into her hands, instructing her to "get fucking dressed". Belle rolled her eyes, watching him unearth a pair of jeans from somewhere inside his walk-in closet and putting them on.

"These socks don't even match. And they're yours!"

He turned to look at her like she'd grown a second head.

"What the _fuck _does it matter, Belle? Just put them on! I'll be taking them off in roughly thirty minutes anyway."

She shimmied into her tight pants while he grabbed her peach blouse and black camisole, the former torn and the later rumpled. She took the camisole from him and yanked it on, discarding the ruined shirt with a sigh. Nick grabbed her from behind, burying his face in her hair.

"I'll buy you one like it. I'll buy one in every colour they have. But don't throw that one. I want to keep it."

He didn't tell her he planned on having a handkerchief made with the fabric, feeling silly and sentimental about it. He leant her one of his cashmere sweaters instead, an old burgundy one she loved to borrow and hunted for her booties while she tried to tame her hair.

"Clock's ticking, dearie!" He singsonged, struggling into his coat while holding onto his cane. "The night's not gonna last forever!"

She giggled as he yanked her out of the apartment, quickly shoving her into the elevator and pressing himself against her. He let out a low, throaty laugh and nipped playfully at her neck in response, rubbing himself against her like an affectionate cat. She could feel his smile against her skin, and for a moment felt so happy she could barely breathe. She wrapped herself around him as much as she could, needing to hold him tight. The engagement ring dug into her finger, heavy and wonderful.

"Mal will probably approve of me skipping work in favour of marathonic sex but how 'bout you? Can Imp Inc spare you?"

He shrugged, tilting his head up to kiss her forehead.

"I could indulge in some vacation time. I've been a veritable beast lately, I'm sure everyone will be more than a bit relieved."

His tone was light and humorous but the implication of his words made Belle press tighter against him. It had taken Nick, the most guarded and vulnerable man she knew, four tries to propose, during which he had gotten food poisoning, had had his study flooded and had fought with his ex-wife's former lover. Nicholas Gold, scared lifeless of putting himself out there had gone through hell for her. He could indulge all he wanted as far as she was concerned.


End file.
